


Chains

by MaddyBoo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, slavestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyBoo/pseuds/MaddyBoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Great War between Alternia and Earth the trolls have been kept and enslaved by the human race.  Karkat Vantas is one of these trolls that has been enslaved. He is like any other troll, except that he is a mutant.<br/>Even though the trolls have given up their cultural ways one thing from their old world remains and that is the hemospectrum. The humans have taking the bloodcaste and have based the worth of a troll after it. The higher the blood of a troll is the higher the price for that troll is. Being a mutant in this society makes him not only worthless to other trolls but to humans as well.<br/>Dave Strider is in search of a troll after turning 16 which is the age when a human can buy a troll. He goes to the market and buys Karkat. After they bond his feelings grow more red for the nubby horned troll but he isn't sure how to fix the scars left on the outside and inside of Karkat from his past to get the troll to see that Dave isn't going to hurt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction and my first post on here so please do not be too harsh.  
> Also, criticism and comments are always welcomed though please be kind. :)  
> I hope you guys enjoy!

          Holy fuck, you are finally free. You, Karkat Vantas, are finally fucking free.  
           You force your abused and malnourished legs to continue moving forward, to keep running no matter how much the aching muscles protest to the sudden, extensive exercise. Every time one leg straightens in order to push off the ground to propel you farther your unused legs send a throbbing pain to the core of your body. Your breathing is labored, a soft rasping sound coming from your parted lips whenever you manage to suck a breath of air into your aching lungs. our head is becoming dizzy from the exertion, the only thing keeping you from crumpling to the ground in a gasping heap Is the sight of trees before you. Your blood, your mutant candy red blood, being pumped into your bloodpusher at such a fast rate you can hear its beating loud and clear in your ears. A small fear clenches the back of your mind at the thought that the stress you are currently putting on your bloodpusher might cause it to explode. Wouldn't that be your luck, to finally have freedom from your master only to die pathetically inches away from securing that freedom because you had a weak heart.  
           Soft thuds sound each time your bare feet are brought down onto the soft, muddy ground below you. If your feet had been dirty before they are absolutely filthy now. They are caked with mud, covering your toes to the base of your ankles where the amount of dark substance lessoned gradually from being covered into specks of the dark brown. There are random pieces of grass stuck in the mess; the bright green of the blades popping out against the dark brown. They point in all angles and directions, some blades laying flat against his skin while others are sticking straight up, as if o give off a warning.  
The long grass brushes against your legs with every movement. The feeling of them ghosting against your bare calves so lightly it was almost to the point of ticklish for you. The dark grey sweatpants you had on are almost two sizes too large but in order for them not to fall off during your flee you had rolled up the pant legs to just under your knees, leaving the rest of your legs naked.  
           All you had to do now to make sure this freedom stays yours is to make it into the woods in front of you. Once in the safety and coverage of the thick forest would you have a chance of not getting caught. At this point getting captured would mean at least an almost unbearable punishment or possibly death. It would be a lot harder for anyone to find you when you had the entire coverage of trees, bushes, and rocks to hide in. There is too much constant motion in the woods for a hunter to be able to find were you have hidden yourself. All the sounds, smells, and sights would mask your own meager appearance in the forest and leave the hunter confused as to which one belongs to you, their prey. As long as you could make it into the line of trees, this new freedom would forever be in your grasp.  
You haven't really put much thought into what you will do after you are masterless but that detail can be figured out later.  
The trees loom up before you with the promise they can give you what you need most being whispered through their rustling leaves. You are so incredibly close to the one thing that has been filling your dreams for years, the one thing you truly want, that an immense joy fills you. All you have left are a few steps until the overhead of thick leaves covers you. The excitement bubbles up in the pit of your stomach, a feeling that you have been kept from ever since you became a slave to your master. Of course you have been entertaining this fantasy of escaping for years but never did you think that you might possibly accomplish it. You had been certain that by now you would have been shot down which you had known would most likely happen but still decided that you simply could not pass up this opportunity. You had taken a chance which seems that it may have paid off in the end.  
           Even though every fresh breath of air is stretching your lungs in ways they haven't been for a long time, sending a sharp pain through your chest each time, you continue moving. The length of the grass was growing longer as you went, becoming more wild and unruly. All it would take for your own rough hand to touch the roughness of the bark on a tree is a few more steps. You are so fucking close now, so close and all you had to do was fight through the pain for a few more minutes. Only about twenty steps left now...  
A searing pain shot up your calf, making a loud gasp escape your dry lips. The force of the arrow head buying itself deep into your calf muscle sends you surging toward the ground. A snarl sounds from you as you get a face full of mud and grass. With a pissed off growl rumbling through your chest you push yourself up by your hands in order to turn around and see the damage done to your leg. As the sight of your mutated blood fills your gaze your claws are dug deeper into the soft Earth under you. The arrow tip was dug deeply into your skin to the point that it almost disappeared completely, leaving just the hilt of it sticking out of the wound. Blood is everywhere. It is the first thing that catches your attention. A steady stream of it is flowing from the wound and down the side of your leg to pool on the ground. The sight and smell fill your senses to the point where passing out is a huge possibility as you become light-headed.  
           In order to keep yourself conscious you take a few shuddery breathes, focusing on pulling air into your lungs and then pushing the air out. The grass now surrounding your face is moving gracefully according to your breathing while you try your hardest to slow it down. Your bloodpusher beating hard in your chest as you do so.  
           What gets you back to thinking straight isn't the breathing or having your hands clawbed deep into the Earth but it's the thought that you have already come so far and to give up now would only make you hate yourself more than you already do. There is no way in hell that you are about to let all that hard work get wasted, no way in hell that you were about to wait here on the ground for the person who shot the arrow into you to come and collect you. You are going to fight until you just can't anymore.  
The low growl you make turns into a whimper as you try to push off your hands into a sitting position, which just makes the arrow twist in your muscles and tear at them as your leg sifts in order to accommodate the position that you are aiming for. A deep breath is pushed out of your lungs before you try to ignore the pain and continue to push yourself up. You can feel the arrow tearing into you, cutting your leg deeper and shredding the muscle, the arrowhead digging its way deeper into you. You decide that the first thing that you must do is turn around and yank that arrow out before it has the chance to do any more damage than it has already caused.  
           With the sounds of your own beating heart and pained filled noises filling your ears you had missed the sounds of someone thudding closer to you at a rapid pace. In fact, you had no idea that the owner of the arrow that is now embedded in you leg had been so close to you. You had no idea that they were behind you until you feel the hard underside of a boot press into your back between your shoulder blades. The owner of the boot pushes down on you hard so you slam back into the ground underneath you with a thud. As you head slams into the ground and a loud ringing is set off in your ears a high pitched laugh is sounded above you. The weight of the boot shifts until its the toe of the boot if pressed roughly between your shoulder blades, making sure that you stay where you are.  
           The voice that fills your ears is one that you are very familiar with, one that makes your blood run cold.  
            "You really pissed of Master this time, little mutant."


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains violence and branding.

          The cold, shrill voice belongs to a blue blooded troll who is also owned by your master. She is a malicious troll and you have always gone out of your way to aviod crossing paths with her. Her voice is high and sweet but that only covers up her cruel nature. She is ruthless and blood hungry; known for drawing other trolls blood whenever she gets the chance. With an almost two foot height difference between you two she easily looms over you, and once again a wave of self hate washes through you because of your shitty fucking genes that made you so short.

          "Get up." her voice orders you as she removes her boot from your back.

          You want to ignore her, perferrably tell her to fuck off, but you know that would only make things worse for you afterwards. A low, warning growl rumbles from your chest as you place both dirt covered hands into the ground and push yourself upwards. The first thing your eyes meet is the sight of a flower, dark red petals flareing out on all sides. It is the middle of spring so the flower must have just bloomed. The color is rich, beautiful, and a few drops of rainwater on the petals glisten in the moonlight.

          Before you get the chance to fully push yourself up off the ground cold hands clasp the back of your sweater, pulling you the rest of the way to your feet effortlessly. A small whimper tries to pass your lips but you bite your tongue to stop it as your weight is slammed back onto your damaged leg, making the feeling rack your body so that black spots invade your vision. To stable yourself you close your eyes and will the pain to lessen. When you open them up again she is staring down at you with her eyes promising pain, a twisted grin forming on her lips.

          "You're pathetic." she sneers at you.

          Before you get the chance to replay she kneels down and rips the arrow from your calf, resulting in a high, surprised whimper filling the air from your throat. She straightens up, her cruel grin growing wider as she studies the arrow in her hand, your candy blood dripping from its tip. A wave of dizzyness washes over you as the stream of blood thickens and drips down your leg.

          When realization hits you that you gave her what she wants to hear you quickly cut the sound off, pissed that you had given her that much satisfaction.  In that moment you truely hate her. All you want to do is rip that fucking look off her smug face. You want to feel her flesh being torn under your nails, see her blue blood being spilt just like how she has spilt yours many times before...

          Your hands clench into fists to stop yourself from doing exactly that. If you raise a hand toward her she would have shove that arrow into your bloodpusher before you had a chance to move. All of her senses are heightened compared to yours. She is one of the first trolls to eat the scraps left over, while you are always the last, because of this her senses are far better than yours. She is faster, stronger, and can not only see better but hear better also. Acting out against her would be a death sentence and although you have thought about that many times before, about just ending this all, you don't believe that you deserve the luxury of death.

          Her free hand reaches out and grasps your chin harshly, long claws digging into your skin and making indents where they press. She jerks your head up so that you are looking up into those glacier eyes, the grey irises turning blue on the inside ring.

          "Don't stop making that noise mutant. It's nice." She almost purrs at you.

          In retailiation you snap your teeth at her, anger bubbling up in your stomach. In return she only smirks and digs her nails in deeper, drawing blood at a few spots.

          "How you're still so fiesty i dont understand. Any troll would have been broken by know but you just seem to hold on. I suppose it's a good thing though, you wouldn't be as much fun then." her voice is thoughtful. "Anyways. we should get moving. Master is already upset about your failed escape plan so we shouldnt keep him waiting to long... I wonder what your punsihment will be this time after this little stunt. Maybe you'll finally learn your place?"

          "My place? Unlike you I dont get off by being a fucking thinkpanless, noosucking pet to a vile, pink-fleshed asshole. I would rather stab myself in my own bonebulge with a fucking chainsaw than grovel at the feet of him." You snarl back in response before you have the chance to stop yourself.

          You expect the hard slap that comes across your face, leaving your cheek stinging and pinprick tears in the corners of your eyes from the impact. You blink a few times to push them back. You deserved that for speaking against her. You thought you had finally accomplished being able to keep your fucking mouth closed but sometimes you just couldn't stop yourself before the words are tumbling out of your mouth.

          Your head is jerked up roughly, your throat exposed, as one of her hands grips your hair tightly and tugs it upwards. With you neck fully exposed to her this is the most defenseless position a troll can find themselves in. Having your neck exposed means she has complete controll over you at the moment. If she wants to she can tear through your windpipe and kill you here easily and there is nothing you can do to stop her. You are left completely defenseless.

          Her face is mere inches from your own as she snarls at you. "How dare you talk back to me you revolting mutant! If it wasn't for Master I would already have culled your worthless ass. You should be on your knees in front of Master for his gratitude in letting you continue living your disgusting existence. All you're doing is wasteing space you freak."

          You wish that you could come back with something to counter her with but you can't because everything she just said was true. You are lucky to still be alive. Anyone else would have killed you the second they found out about your mutated blood. They would have killed you as soon as they realized you have no value.

          A knowing smile forms on her grey lips because she knows she won; She knows that you have nothing to say to that since it's true. Her hand releases the tight grip on your hair to be replaced on your horn, her nails digging in painfully at the hornbed which is the most senitive part. You cover up a whine with a snarl as the nails dig into your hornbed and she gives it a tug.

           "Let's go." she orders and you comply.

        She turns around and the bright red flower is crushed under her boot before she tugs in the grip she has on your horn, making you follow.

          Every step in excruciatingly painful, you ache all over but the shooting pains in your leg and from where her claws are pressed onto your horn are blocking out the dull ache of over used muscles. The rest of the walk back to your own personal hell is silent, only the shaking breath being pushed in and out of your nose being heard, along with the distant hoot of an owl from the forest behind you, the freedom that you had failed to grasp. Your blood is the only smell filling your nose and it makes your stomach turn. The grass rustles against your legs as she leads you by your horn through the feild.

          When you arrive back to the house where your Master lives she leaves you in the hall for a moment to go fetch him. The few mintues she is gone gives you time to take care of your own wounds in peace.

          Glancing behind you you see that the arrow wound has mostly stopped bleedind though it remains a wide open mark. It will most likely take a day or two to scab over. You are also certain that the limp you had while walking through the feild with would be remaining with you for the rest of your pathetic life. Lifting a hand carefully up to the base of your horn you rub at the sore hornbed gently until you are sure that the injury inflicted their isn't going to be permanent.

          After assuring yourself that you would not keel over and die from your wounds you look around the all too familiar room. There's a couch against the wall that you and no other troll are ever allwoed to sit on, it's for humans only. You wish that wasn't a rule because the plump cushions seemed to be calling you over to them, to curl up in its softness and drift off to sleep. There's a coffee table in fornt of the couch and a T.V placed on the wall that was set onto some sit-com. The only thing that was dirty in this room was you and the small trail of dirt and blood you left in your wake, which you would more than likely be stuck cleaning up later. A feeling of gratitude passes through you when you don't see any other trolls in this living space.

          As you wait, a sort of calm seems to envolope you as the clock ticks away the seconds. You don't like the feeling of being trapped back into this nightmare but it's something you are used to, it's all you've ever known. The more seconds ticked away by the clock on the wall the calmer you become. You almost had your dream but in the end it moved away from you, once again sifting from a possible reality only into a simple dream. A hope for the future and it was this hope that always kept you moving, this feeling that kept you from breaking and being a mindless troll like the others. Without having this to look forward to you aren't sure what you would have done at that point. If there would be a reason to continue so maybe it was a good thing that you didn't achieve that freedom.

          The pain and exhaustion that fills you is something that you don't mind too much. It is just a reminder that you haven't died yet, that you're still alive.

          Thudding footsteps sound down the hall and the blue blooded troll appears in the doorway again, a smile on her face that lit up her features like a fucking human wiggler's face when they go to that oversized rodent carnival place. Her excitement was buzzing through her very being as she walked towards you.

           "Master was very upset but he was grateful that i took it on myself to stop you. He rewarded me and i get to dish out the punishment you deserve. He already told me what it is that the punsihment should be and i can't agree more. Come on." she moitons you to follow her and you do, just wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible so that you would have more time to lick your wounds in peace.

          She leads you through the house and down into the basement where all of the punishments take place. There are chains attached to the walls, dangling down and waiting for the next person they would be holding captive. This is not the first time you have been placed in their grasp but fear still clutches at your heart as she clickes the chains around your wrist. You snarl at her as she fastens them which only makes her smile widen. She pulls the chains tight against the wall so there is no possibility of you moving your hands. Their is dried blood of different shades decorating the floor and walls from where it hadn't been scrubbed away completely. 

          "Aren't you going to ask what's going to happen?" She questions with glee.

           In response you bare your teeth at her. "Just shut the fuck up and do it already."

           She frowns at you. "Fine, I'll tell you anyways. Master wants me to brand you. That way if you ever try to leave again anyone and everyone will know who you belong to."

          Your heart stops beating for a minute as the words sink in. You are about to get branded, like cattle, or property, which you are. This would forever mark you, you would never be able to be free. Everytime you would look at yourself you would be reminded of what you really are, nothing more than a slave. Even if you ran away into the woods you will still be the Master's. Even if you ran half way across the Earth you would still be his. Even in death that mark will still be on you, still claiming you as his. Never would you be your own, you would never belong to yourself.

          Your dream has officially been shattered.

          Before the initial shock of her statement can set in she is using a sharp claw to tear through the fabric of your shirt. She tears it from the collar straight down until your chest is left bare, your skinny bones popping out under the grey skin covering your body. The next thing you feel is a pain like no other. It makes being shot with an arrow seem merely like a sprained ankle. Right under your clavicle she has pressed a searing hot metal object into your skin, bruning the flesh their and moving it to form letters which would then turn into words. You cry out in pain at the feeling of your skin being burned and the sound bounces off the stone walls and back to you, almost as if to mock you.

          Your eyes squeeze shut tightly and your fists clench in the metel chains grasp. Your body begins to shake as the feeling racks your body. Even with your teeth clamped together from the pain but they cant stop the sounds coming from your throat. Slowly you vision starts to black out, going from small specks of black to you only being able to see darkness and you loose conciousness as the smell  of your own burning flesh fills your nostrils and the blue blood continues to burn the words 'Property of Blackwood' into your skin to mark you forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism welcomed. :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave makes a deal with Bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave's POV.

          You struggle your way out of the covers and sheets which had tangled themselves around your legs sometime throughout the night. Your hands rub at your sleep filled eyes under the shades that are practically glued to your face as your feet hit the floor. Clothes are tossed around the messy room until you come across a pair that's clean. You really should do the laundry today because your'e certain that these are your last clean pair.

          Of course, if you had your own personal troll, then you wouldnt be stuck with laundry and cleaning. Even though you have turned sixteen, the age the goverment deemed appropriate for people to have their own troll, you are still trolless. You have planned to bring up the fact that you are still a troll virgin to Bro for a few months now, but things aren't that easy between you and him. He hasn't been home for a while now because of work. When he is home there isn't all that much of a conversation between you two. You talk to each other when you need to, sometimes leaving small notes tacked onto objects through the apartment for the other. Also, you guys strife a lot, something that you look forward to since that's how you and Bro bond.

          Once you have your clothes on you walk out of your room in search of some Apple Juice to quench your thirst. As the door to your room opens and you take a step out into the living room you're greeted by a plush smuppet ass colliding with your face.

          "God damnit Bro." you mutter, knowing he already left the scene. Dislike fills you as you glance down at the offending smuppet. The passion of hatred you harbor for these things could probably melt the sun.

          There's a small note attached to its nose. You bend down, hand wrapping around the soft fabric of its midsection and tear the note off of it. With the note securely in your grip you drop the smuppet and kick it gently away from you.

          Written on the outside of the piece of paper in Bro's writing is the single word "roof".

          You feel excitement grip you at the promise of a good strife. You let the note flutter back to the ground since really, the apartment is already a disaster, what is one more piece of paper going to do to this mess, right? Carefully you make your way over multiple smuppets, pass the small coffee table overflowing with take-out boxes and pizza boxes, and into the kitchen. There is no way that you are going to go strife without having your morning AJ first.

         The apartment is always in a constant state of messy since Bro had given up having a troll ever since he had taken on the responsibilty of raising you. With how much work calls him away at all hours of the day for days on end he never felt comfortable having a troll left alone with you for so long. Trolls have been known for acting out if their master has been gone for a certain length of time. Without a troll's owner to remind them of their place they might become dangerous. It doesn't happen suddenly but gradually; they will do somehing small that usually would get them in trouble and when no reprimand came they would continue to test their bondries. There have been a few cases where the trolls discovering their new freedom have become violent with pets and children left in their reach, sometimes the troll would kill them. As soon as Bro got custody of you he had gotten rid of his troll, not taking a risk when it came to your safety.

          You have a frim grip on the fridge's handle when you spot a juice box on the counter waiting for you. You release the fridge and pick up the juice box, unwrapping the straw and popping its point through the premade hole. You take a sip, enjoying the cool, sweet liquid filling your mouth. You pick up another note that had been placed in front of the juice and hold it up to your face. Once again it's just a single word in Bro's handwriting. "Now."

          You throw the note out since you're close to the trash and return to the fridge, opening it and finding your favorite katana there. You grab its cool hilt and bumb the door closed after pulling the sword out of its confines, never once removing the box of juice from your lips as you continue to drink it. When the satisfactory noises of an empty box fill your ears you toss it into the trash.

          You switch your blade into your better hand as you walk towards the apartment door and out into the hallway. Since you live on the top floor of the complex you only have a few neighbors. Almost all of the rooms had been filled but that was until the elevator stopped working two years ago. Now the only people who remain on this floor are hermits, in fact you can't recall a time when you've seen anyone other than yourself and Bro on this floor. You wouldn't be surprised if they had died but quickly shake the thought away, not liking the possibility that you were on a floor full of slowly rotting bodies.

          As soon as you open the door to the stairs leading up to the roof you can feel the temperature change. Due to you sleeping in the sun has already made it to the middle of the sky, beating down relentlessly on anyone who is brave enough to brace Houston's heat. 

          The hilt of your katana is gripped tightly in your hand as you begin to make your way up the seemingly never ending staircase. This had always been the part you dread about strifing; this long, tiring workout which was only leading you to what would most likely be an asskicking. No matter how many times you have fought against Bro you have never managed to beat the older Strider. To be truthful you usually only manage to get a few hits on him. Knowing beforehand that Bro will win never discourages you from the strife though. It's a chance to hang out with your older brother, to spend time with him. You've accepted long ago that you will most likely never match up to Bro, that you'll never be as good as the badass Strider no matter how hard you try, but that will never stop you from trying.

          You can feel dampness start on the back of your neck as the temperature steadily rises with every step. A small ache starting in your calves and thighs. You ignore the familiar ache to focus on what moves you should try this time, hoping you might be able to surprise him and catch him off his guard.

          The door leading to the scorching rooftop is now in sight, growing larger with every step. As you get closer you become more alert, paying close attention to everything around you. Your muscles become tense, awaiting for the fight that was about to unfold. The eager anticipation for a good strife is now filling you when you reach a steady hand out for the doorknob. Preparing yourself for an immediate attack you toss the door open, being envoloped in the blazing heat, and step out onto the roof with your katana poised and ready to strike or defend.

         You expect him to attack without mercy, to immediatly hear the clang of metal against metal but what you find instead surprises you.

          Bro is standing with his back to you, his sword gripped casually in his gloved hand. He doesn't seem affected by the heat, or if he is he isn't giving off any signs to say so, as he looks at the city below him.

          You walk over to him catiously with your katana ready to attack at the slightest movement. You stand beside him and glance down at the cityscape to see what had apparently caught his attention. Down below you don't see anything that seems out of place. There are people and trolls walking the streets, cars zooming past in their rush to go wherever they had to that day.  From this height everyone looks like a blob, the only indicator whether the blob is a human or a troll is the color.There are more grey blobs than there are bright colored blobs. Trolls usually wear much darker colors than humans do. It's expected that there are more trolls than humans because of the heat. Owners most likely had sent out their trolls to do tasks for them, not wanting to go out in the ruthless heat themselves.

          You glance back up at Bro who hasn't seemed to move an inch since you got here. His face betrays no emotion, his lips set in a firm line. The sun glints off the corner of his pointed shades. Not a fan of silence you open your mouth to break it, about to make some kind of metaphor before a deep, baritone voice beats you to it.

          "Yo, lil' man. We need to talk." His southren drawl is thick as always.

          Fuck, that was not what you had been expecting. The last time Bro said that exact same line it turned into the most awkward twenty minutes of your pre-teen life. You had come up to the roof, ready for a strife, but instead you had gotten the birds and the bees talk. It didn't help the awkwardness when Bro had decided in order to have this talk successfully he had to demonstrate with his smuppets to explain how everything works. Thinking back on it you're pretty sure he used the smuppets just to get under your skin.

          You really hope it isn't another one of those conversations because it is way to early for that.

          "You turned sixteen a few months ago so im guessing you want a troll. As long as you can impress me with your strifing skills than I'll buy you one. Deal?" He glances over at you as he talks, waiting for an answer to his proposition.

          You're a bit weary to agree considering the past experiences you've had before with him and his deals but this one all you could see is a win. You wouldn't be losing money, wouldn't have to clean the house, wouldn't get stuck getting the grocery's for a month. Finally you had a chance to get yourself a troll and you can't pass up on the oppurtunity, especially when this might be your only chance to get one until you move out. The only thing to do is agree, but not without bargaining.

          "Fine, but i want enough money for a fuschia blood. That's how much my time cost Bro. Right now i could be off saving lives of millions of people. Saving all the babies while their mothers faint from gratefullness. All the babes that can be swooning over this hot Strider ass." You respond while loosening the grip on your sword.

          "Dave, sim's aren't people."

          "They are people. They eat, sleep, think, love, shit, have kids-"

           "You can get a blue blood." Bro cuts you off.

           "You are rolling in dough Bro. We can afford a higher blooded troll. We can be like the gangsters in those shitty mafia movies, bathing in money and wiping our asses with it. Come on, at least an indigo." You counter.

           "Teal. My next offer will be a dog, Dave. And just because I have the money doesn't mean that you'll be getting it. But before I'm giving you any money you have to impress me lil' bro."

          "Yeah Bro, we have a deal."

          "Good kid. Now impress." he says right before flashstepping away from you.

          Your sword is put at the ready as you walk away from the edge of the roof and to its center where strifes always take place. After a few mintues of intense listening you hear the faint whur of metal slicing through the air. Not a moment later you react, lifting your sword to block the attack that otherwise would have hit your left arm and the satisfying sound of metal clashing against metal rings out on the roof as your katana hits his. You catch a glimpse of him before he flashsteps again, dissapearing from your sight.

          Soon after he makes his move again which you dodge and return with your own attack. You aim for his left arm which he moves out of the way for, your sword glinding the air instead of its target. You know what his next attack will be before you see it. He aims for your abdomen and you barely manage to escape the sharp edge of his sword as you flashstep to his side. Your sword comes down in an arch, aiming for his stomach when you feel the force of his sword againt yours vibrate to your hands and ring in your ears. In a swift movement he knocks your weapon to the side. Since both hands are now on the hilt of your katana you don't have the time to defend yourself with your sword from the other's attack. Before you have the time to think your instincts kick in and you twist your body to the side, digging the tip of your katana into the surface of the roof, and push yourself off the ground with that. You feel as Bro's sword comes down on you but doesn't hit its mark, instead you barely hear the small tear as the blade cuts through the fabric of your jeans.

        When your feet thud back onto solid ground you swing your blade upwards and towards him. This time you hit him. The sword glides into the air effortlessly and hits Bro's upper arm, slicing a shallow cut through his flesh in an upwards arch.

          You forget completely about the strife as you see red start to soak his torn sleeve. This is the first time you have ever been the first to draw blood. You have been able to mark up Bro before but you were never the first one to draw blood first. He glances down at his arm and looks back up at you with a small grin playing on his lips. You know that look and you give him a grin in return even though your heat thuds faster in your chest.

          You are fucked.

          The first cut he makes is a shallow one on the left side of your abdomen. He had moved so quickly you hadn't even noticed until you felt the pain. You don't have much time to dwell on the cut before he made another thrust, this time aiming for your shoulder and you have to move to block it, ending with a cut on your upper arm.

          Moves begin to blur together and you can't tell whether you had swung at him or if you were blocking his moves. Your instincts have taken over once again, leaving you little to no time to think about a move before putting it into action. The loud clang of weapon against weapon rang out on the roof constantly and it is a sound you know well. He would advance and you would defend, then retaliate with your own attack. You two fell comfortably into the familairity of strifing with each other, going from being on the defensive to being on the offensive. It was like a dance for you two, a dance that you each knew well.

          A thin layer of sweat iss covering your body from the exertion and the sun bearing down on you. You make a few more cuts on Bro but he makes many more on you. You are currently losing the fight but you will not give up. Not only is giving up something Striders simply just do not do but you also have a troll on the line here. You're sure that the bet is what has kept you going this long, that is making you ignore how tired you are. Determination making it possible for you to fight past your fatigue.

          You make a thrust toward his chest which he blocks easily, pushing your sword away with his own before flashstepping out of the way. The next thing you know you feel his leg pushing against your ankles, knockng you off of your feet. Wind rushes past you before your back hits the ground with a thud, the clatter of your katana bouncing across the hot roof accompanying the small grunt you give. You blink away the shock that he had knocked your feet out from under you before rolling over, heading for your weapon. When you have your fingers wrapped around its cool hilt you turn back onto your back with the point of it aiming upwards just as Bro's weapon's point is hovering above your own neck with yours pointing at his heart.

          Both of you stay there for a minute, the rising and falling of yours and Bro's chests the only indication that you two aren't statues. The sounds of your breathing sounding in your ears. Sunlight gleams off of his body as his shadow blocks yours. Pride in yourself wells up again as you realize that you are at a draw with Bro. He didn't win. He didn't fucking win this time. Sure you didn't win either but that didn't matter, all that mattered was the fact that he didn't win. 

          You can't stop the smirk that spreads across your face, messing up your perfect poker face. The smirk seems to be infectious as one also appears on Bro's features. In a swift motion he switches his sword into his other hand, holding his now unoccupied one out for you to grasp. You grip onto his with your free one and he pulls you up, his smooth glove brushing against your skin, and your feet are placed firmly back on the ground underneath you.

          Bro gives you a nod and doesn't say much else, but that doesn't matter to you because you know that he's proud of you.

          He walks with you down the stairs and back to the apartment. He takes you to the bathroom and takes care of your wounds, sewing them up if the cut is deep enough. Once he is sure that you have been completely taken care of he cleans his own injuries, none of them being deep enough he feels he should stitch them. After ruffling your hair, ignoring your annoyance at the action, he walks out of the bathroom and you follow with plans of searching for boxers so you can take a shower. Just as you're about to reach your room Bro stops you and places a small plastic card in your hand. Glancing down you recognize it as a credit card.

          "Good strife lil' man. I'm proud of you." 

          He tells you he's proud with an emotionless voice but you know he means it and that sends a warmth spreading through you. You always know that Bro is proud of you, that he loves you, but it's still nice to hear him say so outloud.

          "If you come back with anything higher than a teal blood I will seriously kick your ass." He warns before dissapearing into his room.

          You hold the card tightly in your hand. You can finally get a troll. 

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading!   
> I had fun writing the strife. :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing just a few feet away is the guy in the shades from before, an air of ease around him but his body is tense. His arms are crossed over his chest, his face giving away nothing as he speaks again.
> 
> "I hope you don't mind but I'm going to put in my bid for Nubs here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trolls are still hatched by the mothergrub and are taken care of by jadebloods until they are old enough to be set out in the slavetrade. Karkat's master was a transporter (people who move trolls from the hatching sights to either homes, pounds, or government facilities) and had taken Karkat after he got out of his grub phase, knowing his blood color. He only took Karkat because he wanted a slave but still didn't have the money to actually buy one. He ended up keeping Karkat even after he bought his own trolls just because he didn't see a reason to get rid of the mutant blood.
> 
> Karkat's POV

          You have been stuck in this room for a few weeks now. A few days after you had been marked your master had sold you without a single bat of his eye, he hadn't even glanced your way as two transportors put you in the back of a van smelling of fast food and grease, and drove off towards the pound where you are currently located. You know why he did it, why he branded you and then sold you off. It was all a part of the lesson he was trying to prove not just to you but to any other troll under his control who was thinking of trying the same stunt you did, that you are his and only his. It is a miracle that the workers here hadn't seen your brand when you arrived and an even greater one that you had been stuck with some new asshole that was too busy to really look at your blood and had just marked you off as another rustblood. If they had seen either of those then you would have been killed because they would have realized you would not be bringing them any money. The pounds are all about which trolls will be bringing them money and a mutant is worth nothing, better to get rid of the baggage instead of having to pay for their food, not to mention they would just be taking up space for a troll that would actually rack them in some cash.

          You're not surprised that he did this to you but it still hurts to know he could give less of a shit to kill you himself. To be fair you weren't the best troll but he was giving you up for slaughter like he was throwing out trash...which you guess you are to him. Even if you continue to keep below the pound's radar and manage to keep your two secrets away form their knowledge the human who bought you, if one was stupid enough to, would more than likely either return you where the pound would end your measly pathetic existence or the person would kill you themselves when they found out. Either way, you are screwed.

         The room you had been given when you first arrived is small, three sides made out of bricks while the wall facing the hallway is made out of bars so costumers can easily see what troll is in there. Attached to the outside bars is a paper with that trolls information, stating basics such as blood, name, height, age, and so on. At first you hated it here, having to get familiar with this strange place was a terriable experience; having to get used to the bright lights, the constant murmer of noises from passing people, workers, and the trolls all around you in their own rooms. After a few days you grew accustomed to the constant sounds, the cold floor under your feet, and curling up in the blanket you have on the bed that's in every room, but you still aren't used to the feeling of eyes peering in on you from the humans and you don't think you ever will be able to.

          The feeling of rough pages inbetween your fingers and the soft sound of them turning is the only sound that can completely relax you in here. You have always found comfort in reading romance books and that hasn't ever stopped. In fact, you spent a great deal of your time snuggling up onto the well used bed with a romance book held tightly in our hands, losing yourself in the story. All of the books you've read have been about human romance and their single stupid ass one quadrant and even after thousands and thousands of pages reading about it you still fell their romance is a shitty joke compared to trolls four quadrants. You've heard that somewhere there is a library full of millions and millions of troll books back from Alternia. Tales like these, of times where trolls didn't belong to a human, weren't enslaved to their race, back when they were only under the rule of the empress, are tales that you used to fall asleep to as a little grub. Those are still your most favored memories, even though they are more than a little foggy due to how long ago they had happened. Thinking back on it, the days after your hatching and waiting for your time for someone to pick you up, are the days you like best, when you could just sit by the jadetrolls who looked after young grubs and they told stories of the old world.

          You were obviously grateful when a girl had offered to give you a book she was reading after  noticing your envious glare. When you hadn't answered her she simply showed the cover to you so you could see the image plastered there, which was of two humans in a deep, passionate kiss. With a cautious hand you grabbed it out of hers which made her smile and offer you a deal. Every time you finished a book she would grab that one and switch it out for a new one which you quickly agreed to. You were pleasently surprised when she kept the deal up and even more surprised that a human could express such kindness towards a troll.

          The current book you have tightly in your grip is reaching a huge point in the story, the man was about to meet up with his past lover after years of being apart from each other while the woman was engaged to another man. Your fingers are itching to turn the next page, to see how it turns out, when you feel an uneasiness meaning there're eyes on you. Trying your best to ignore the feeling you continue to read your story, nervous for the main character and how he is going to react once he finds out about his ex-lovers new quadrant filler.

          Irritation flares up in you when you hear someone snicker which distracts you from the novel. A scowl comes across your face to potray just how annoyed you are as you set the book down on the bed next to you before fixing your gaze on the bulgemuncher who distracted you. Your yellow eyes are reflected back to you when your gaze meets a pair of black shades. The guy is taller than you, even if you were standing up your head would probably meet his chin. There's a small, amused looking grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looks back at you, or atleast you think he's looking back at you. All of these things about this prick just pisses you off even more and the words that tumble out of your mouth next is something you immediatly regret saying.

          "What the fuck are you finding so amusing asshole?"

          Fuck! The second the words are out of your stupid mouth that apparantly isn't connected to your shit for brains head you regret them. You can get in so much fucking trouble for speaking to a human like that, even if he does seem like a douche. You have always acted agressive when someone stopped by, growling or giving them a scowl, but you had never talked to them before, and especially not like that.

          You're even more caught off guard with his response.

          "The Notebook? Really man? I thought trolls were these tough fuckers but here you are, Mr. Nubby Horns, reading some sappy romance book. Not even to mention how grumpy and shouty you seem. You are like, the picture of irony."

          He seems to be about your age, in human years that is. Also he doesn't seem to be offended by you in any means as far as you can tell by his poker face so you can't see much damage in talking back to him. Not to mention that he was being a complete prick.

          "Fuck you. The Notebook is a fucking classic you bulgesucking assfuck. Romance is not sappy, it is the only thing that is somewhat interesting in the human culture,  although it is a long run from being as great as troll romance which is far superior to your shitty one quadrant relationships. Having only one quadrant is unbalanced as a fucking highblood without a moirail. Its like giving a drug addict some of the shit you humans call weed and expectng that poor asshole not to smoke it, its destined to fail. And Mr. Nubby Horns? are you fucking serious? that is the most idiotic bullshit nickname i have heard. Actually, I should fucking congratulate you on your ability to be able to point out the most obvious things in existence. Now, if you would kindly leave me alone so I can get back to what I was doing before you rudely interrupted me, thank you very fucking much."

          You only look at the other for a second, a bar cutting out half of his face from your veiw before returning to the words on the page. He has a blank face on although you can see a small twitch of amusement as his lips are turned up slightly. Fuck him for finding your rant funny, the fucking prick. A huff of annoyance exhales from your nose as you bring the book back up to your face, blocking him out of view and continuing where you had left off on the page.

          "Don't worry karkitty, I can take a hint. I'll leave you to your girly book. Besides I have enough money to buy a teal and im not going to waste that oppurtunity."

          With that he walks off, in search of his teal blood and you feel the anger rise in you again. You hate that the papers on the outside just have to have your name on them. Fuck him for getting the last word and doubly fuck him for that awful nickname. 

          Taking a deep breath you try to get yourself to relax once again after that encounter, taking in deep, slow breaths through your nose. Once your anger has subsided and you are able to actually focus on the words in front of you is when you begin to read it, your bloodpusher aching along with the protagonists when he finds out the sad truth that hisold matesprit had taken on a new one. You are completely involved in your book, paying attention to no one and nothing else around you and especially not paying attention to the man who is now looking at you, eyes scanning over you like he is looking at some packaged meat in the freezer section at the library. You also don't notice as his footsteps  
drift away, only to return with another pair a few minutes later. All of your concentration is placed on your book until you hear the clinking of gears moving in the door as the key  
turns the lock and your eyes snap towards the sound.

          One of the workers is walking toward you, her red hair clipped into a bun on the top of her head in a strictly perfessional manner and you know exactly who she is. She is one of the people in charge of sales and paperwork here, which could only mean that someone was planning to buy you. She motions for you to step out and you stand up, glancing around her and expecting it to see the same exact shades from ealier but are taken aback when your gaze is met with cold, almost black eyes. A shiver runs down your spine as the look he is giving you continues to bore straight into you and something about it makes your brain think of a predator. You try to surpress your instinct to look away from him and hold his gaze, hating the way that your skin crawls. Even though you hate studying him, looking at the darkness that seems to surround him, you can't seem like you'll succumb to him.

          "Okay, here he is. I would advise you to look him over before signing and paying, to make certain that he is the one you want to buy today. You may have read it on his  
information sheet already, but it feels only right of me to inform you just in case that has been known to be quite the troublemaker and can very well be a handful. If you find anything about him unsatisfactory you may always return him, although you will not get a refund of your money, and take a look at the many other trolls we have here to sell." the lady spoke to the man as if she was trying to sell him a used car.

          The man nods and moves forwards, his hands moving for you. A low, constant growl sounds in the back of your throat as he puts his large, too warm hands all over your body, starting at your face and moving it this way and that, before traveling down to your shoulders and chest, then to your abdomen and down. The growl grows louder as you feel his hand roughly cup your crotch, and he just laughs before removing it.

          "He's a feisty one, huh? I like that, like when they aren't broken in yet. Takes all the fun out of breaking them, otherwise they're boring. It's fun watching the break under your hand." the man is speaking to the sales lady but it feels as if every word coming out of his mouth is being directed at you, leaving your stomach twisting in knots.

          All you want to do is feel his nose crunching under your fist, your hands balling up at your side but you know you can't do that. Doing it would get you absoluetly no where but a slow, painful death for acting out or possibly be given over to a government testing facility. Inside your stomach is churning and twisting in the most sicking ways as the lady goes over the small details of the sale and you can feel bile start to fight its way up your throat. You know this kind of guy; the kind who makes breaking trolls a sick little game of their own and keeping them as twisted trophies as soon as they become a broken, empty cell of their former self, just like people who hunt keep the animal skins. 

          You realize that you are shaking, so you dig your dulled claws into the palms of your hands, wanting it to stop. You can not show this fucker that he has any kind of hold  
over you, that he is fucking terrifying you. With this guy you can't tell if he would kill you once seeing your color of blood or the color would probably only make you a more exquisite trophy, more fun for him to make you say that he's your master instead of the name on your chest.

          He reaches out towards you with a collar in his hands, one thats meant for the rust blood that the saleslady had surly given him and you snarl and snap your teeth at him,  
knowing that the moition if fruitless even as you do it. As soon as that latch his securly clicked around your neck you will become his property and he can do whatever he damned well pleases with you. The only reaction he gives you is to grin, a grin promising that you will regret acting out later when he gets a chance. Your eyes scan the area quickly, searching for any type of way out as the anxiety and fear overwhelm you.

          The scratchy, thick material is wrapped around your neck, just mere seconds away from being clipped into place when a voice seems to stop everything around you and put time into slow motion. the man stops his movements, not clicking the collar and glances over in the direction the single 'sup' had been spoken the same time yours had, even the sales lady's impatient foot tapping ceases in interest and surprise at the person who had interrupted the sale.

          Standing just a few feet away is the guy in the shades from before, an air of ease around him but his body is tense. His arms are crossed over his chest,  
his face giving away nothing as he speaks again.

  
           "I hope you don't mind but I'm going to put in my bid for Nubs here."

  
 

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left me comments and kudos! :D
> 
> urgh, I'm sorry for the formatting of this. I tried to fix the random indents but I have no Idea how to.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't because you know all the fuss Nubs is making is just for show, in hopes that the guy would back off, figuring the troll is more trouble than he is worth, that made up your mind that you had to get Karkat away from the guy. It isn't even the way the grey frame of the troll is shaking, something that you wouldn't have noticed unless you had been trained by Bro, but you did see it. There is definatley a tremble shaking the troll's frame that stopped when he clamped his hands into fists to stop the tremors racking his body. What set you off isn't even the words from the man that are carried through the hall that make anger rise up. It's the all too present terror in his eyes that makes you move towards the group of three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave's POV

You are interracting with a cool, blind, teal blooded troll, chatting it up and watching her draw whatever the fuck it is she's trying to drawing on the floor in red chalk, until you hear comotion a little ways down the hall. You can't help yourself from glancing over at the sound, wanting to know what's happening. The sight before you is like a train crash, you know you should look away, that it isn't any of your business, that watching it happen will only make you feel sick to your stomach, but you just can't force your eyes to look away as you see the angry troll you talked to earlier being manhandled by some middle aged creep.

Behind your shades your eyes squint at the scene unfolding before you. You know what you should do, you should shrug like the cool guy you are and go back to talking with the blind troll because what's happening to the little ball of temper is none of your business. Shit like this happens all the time. Trolls get sold off to become property of someone else, so this time shouldn't be any different. This is just how society is now. In school you're pretty sure you spent a whole two months on this subject specifically, but you didn't pay much attention. You were way to busy drawing little comics to give a shit, all you needed to know was that humans won. You couldn't have given less of a shit about all the details which had most likely been altered by the people who wrote the text, trying to make humans seem better than they are.

But there's something about the troll that makes you stop, makes you look at him as he snarls and growls as the man's hands roam. He isn't actually biting or snapping at the man, just making a constant growling sound at him that deepens when the man's hand gropes his crouch. How the man was treating him, as if he is a fucking dog at a dog show and he has every right to feel him up, leaves the bitter taste of anger in your mouth.

It's common knowledge that many owners have sex with their trolls. Owners can openly talk about it and no one will see it as weird since it's socially acceptable. Knowing  
something like that is different from seeing how some people treat trolls though, especially when one is getting felt up right in front of you and that troll is obviously uncomfortable with it. You have to stop yourself from trying to beat the living shit out of the man when a satisfactory smirk appears on his features when he stops copping a feel.

It isn't because you know all the fuss Nubs is making is just for show, in hopes that the guy would back off, figuring the troll is more trouble than he is worth, that made up your mind that you had to get Karkat away from the guy. It isn't even the way the grey frame of the troll is shaking, something that you wouldn't have noticed unless you had been trained by Bro, but you did see it. There is definitley a tremble shaking the troll's frame that stopped when he clamped his hands into fists to stop the tremors racking his body. What set you off isn't even the words from the man that are carried through the hall that make anger rise up. It's the all too present terror in his eyes that makes you move towards the group of three.

"Sup." you greet them as you stopped next to them, crossing your arms firmly over your chest and putting on your best pokerface.

The low pitched growling stops and you're greeted by three sets of eyes. Karkat looks you over, confusion making the space between his eyebrows crease. The man's  
practically black eyes are on you, a mixture of annoyance and curiousity in them while the sales lady eyes you with interest, obviously never having expected this to  
turn into something besides the normal, boring transaction.

When no one responds you fill up the now quiet space.

"I hope you don't mind but I'd like to put in my bid for Nubs here."

You can see the lady's lipsticked mouth forming the word no, that this deal had already been signed off on, until realization dawns on her face and makes her pink lips dissolve around the word that was on the tip of her tongue, her eyes widening just a bit.

"Are you Dave Strider?" her voice has lost the boring monotone it held while she had been explaining the details.

"The one and only." you reply.

"Oh! I know your brother. He told me that you would be stopping by soon. This isn't an auction troll...but I guess I'll allow it, that is as long as Mr. William is okay with a bidding war." she glanced over at the man who has replaced his hands back to his sides, collar and leash still held in one of them.

The man looks you over, a grin coming across his face. You know that he thinks you are no challenge to him, that he can easily outbid you without putting a dent in his wallet, but he doesnt know that you have a credit card in your pocket, a shit load of pride, and the feirce need to protect Karkat.

"Sure, I have no problem sparing a few extra bucks." Mr. William's voice drips with confidence.

A ripping sound tears throughout the hall as the sales lady rips the contract Mr. Williams had previously signed into halves, then fourths. "Alright then, the price is starting off at one hundred dollars."

It is time for you to show this jackass that you aren't just messing around, that you are being completely serious about buying Karkat. You are a Strider, after all, and a Strider never backs away or half asses a challenge.

"I'll raise it to three hundred." The lady raises her delicate eyebrow at your offer before scribbling on her notes.

The man, who had been eyeing Karkat again like he was a child looking at ice cream but instead of the wonderment all he had in his eyes was hunger and impatience for it, has turned his gaze to you, eyes widen in shock. He switched his stance, which had been lax, to his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his lips in a firm line as he realized that you might actually give him a run for his money.

"Four hundred." he counters.

Without a beat of hesitance you respond. "Five hundred."

The war continues in that manner for a while, each going up by fifty or a hundred at a time,  all the while the sales lady scribbling on her notepad. You can tell the man is begginning to get pissed off that a bidding war he thought was only going to last maybe up to a three hundred bucks has been carried on until the price range has reached one thousand. You can tell the guy is getting ansty, that he thinks this is way to much money for a simple common rust blood but he is battling the other part of him that does not want to loose to a teenager. You note the man shifts his weight to his other foot before throwing out an unexpected number.

"Two thousand."

He has just doubled the price.

You know exactly why he did it. You can see it from the sheen of sweat starting to bead on his forehead, on his uncomfortable movements. This is his last effort to scare you off before he withdraws. And from the shift he makes of his hand going to his pocket you're almost sure that the amount he just said far exceeded the amount he currently holds in his wallet.

Casting a glance in Karkat's direction you notice that his gaze is still transfixed away from the three of you and concentrated solely on the ground right in front of his bare feet. His arms are at his sides, still clenched into loose fists, but at least he doesn't seem to be injuring himself anymore with those claws.

You're about to look away to make your next offer when he looks up, his grey orbs flecked with red fixating on yours. Scanning his face you can't see the scowl he had meet your look with before, instead his features are lack, but there's something about his eyes, as if he's trying to tell you something important, something urgent. You find yourself wishing he would just tell you what he has going on in his mind, he sure as hell didn't seem to have a problem yelling his insights at you earlier.

With your sight still trained on him you give your final offer. "Four thousand."

Karkat looks away from you, crossing his arms loosly over his chest as his eyes become glued to the spot on the ground again.

You're fully aware of the fact that you just offered to pay an amount a normal person would for an olive blood, not for a rustblood.You don't care about the money though. If it is to keep him away from the other guy you would go over the price of a teal and would take that asskicking from Bro no problem. You're not sure why you feel like you need to protect the short, hot tempered troll from harm, but you do, and you especially want to keep him away from this creep. Looking at Karkat you can see marks on the back of his hands and on his wrists where the dirty sweater he has on has been pulled up a bit, marks that are both old and new. Even from the way he moves with a small limp every other step which he tries his hardest to hide makes your heart clench in your chest. He has obviously already spent enough time with abusive assholes, and it amazes you that he still has kept enough life in him to snap at you or snarl at anyone who walks by. The last thing you want is for him to be sold to another person like that.

The lady raises her eyebrows, the only thing she gives away to show that you caught her off guard as she writes it down. The man is glaring at you and you can practically see the anger boiling in his blood. He can't believe that he lost a bid to you, a teenage boy, and it shatters whatever pride he has. Thanks to Bro's training you notice his hands going from loose forms to tight fists as he decides whether or not to punch you, trying to surpress his urge to do so. A part of you wants him to take a swing just so you have a reason to punch him.

"This is way to much for a shitty rust. You can have him. I'll go find one who's actually worth my money." Mr. Willaim's words come out almost a growl.

Mr. Willaim stomps his way down the hall to what you can only hope is the exit.

"Okay!" the sales lady speaks up. "Congratualations on your win. Now that that ordeal is over lets go over the details involving this transaction. I'm sorry but we are going to have to go back to my office since I didn't grab an extra form. Just follow me and we will get this taken care of and you two can be on your way as soon as possible. oh! I almost forgot..."

She hands you the collar and leash the man had before. You take the rough fabric in your hands, feeling it scratch against your hands roughly and you make a mental note that the next time you're out you have to buy a better one.

You feel him tense as you put the material around his neck, his eyes still not meeting yours. After clicking it on you slide two fingers underneath it to make sure it's comfortable and you still loosen it up even more until three fingers can slide in easily. If trolls who didn't wear collars in public didn't get shot down by police or taken to a government facility then you would never bother with the color since you hate how it makes him look like an animal.

"Don't worry karkitten. When we get home you can take it off." you say reassuringly.

He doesn't relax at your words as you had hoped. He just gives you a scowl, eyebrows furrowing donewards and creating that little crease.

The lady begins to walk at a fast pace, heading down the hall in the opposite direction the man had. You wrap the leash around your wrist instead of snapping it on to pull Karkat along like he was some kind of pet, and you follow behind her at a much slower pace so Karkat can keep up with you. Annoyance at how slow you are moving is evident when she keeps stopping and waiting for you two to catch up but you don't care. When you offer to help Karkat by him leaning against you he gives you a glare that could kill the holiest of souls before putting his eyes back to the floor, moving determindly without your help, even trying to move at a faster pace. You shrug and continue walking beside him.

After passing multiple cells full of trolls you appear before a plain wooden door with a plague next to it on the wall stating that it's the main record and sales office. She unlocks the door with a key and opens it for the both of you, closing it firmly behind after you two are safely inside.She motions at the seats in front of a cluttered desk which you plop down in, karkat sitting carefully on the edge. Her heels click against the wood floor as she makes her way around the desk and sits gracefully into a black computer chair. While she's busy with shuffling through paper, getting a pile ready for you you take the time to study the troll you just bought.

He's sitting with his feet on the floor and his hands in his lap. He's looking off towards the wall that's lined with books but he must not see anything he particulary likes since his nose scrunches up and his brows furrow down.

A soft thud brings your attention back to the desk in front of you where the lady had just placed a small stack of papers before you.

"Am I right in assuming this is your first troll?" she asks.

"Yeah." you nod.

"Then you will need these papers telling you all about trolls and what you should be expecting to happen throughout the duration of your ownership."

"Woah woah, wait. Are you telling me that i have homework to do?" you raise a brow at your incrediliously.

She shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. These are just facts that would be good for you to know just in case. If you don't even want to read them you don't have to but they may be helpful. Now all that you have to do is sign the papers which will transfer him from us and over to you and pay. If you aren't happy with him you may bring him back and pick a new troll from the various we have to offer but you will not get a refund."

You nod and fish the credit card out of your pocket, sliding it across the desk's smooth surface over to her as she slides the paper and a pen in your direction. The pen is inches from the paper when her voice stops you.

"Before you sign I have to warn you that this troll is a troublemaker. He has been documented to run away and has quite the mouth on him. Honestly we were just starting the paperwork to send him off to a government facility until now...that is unless you have changed your mind?"

So if that creep hadn't showed interest and you didn't notice him he would have been sent to a worse place than here or that guys house. Relief washes over you that you had gotten to him when you did.

"Nah, nothing's going to make me give up Grumpypants over here." you say.

"Alright." she nods to herself while Karkat makes a snort of dislike.

You sign your name on it and the date before scooting it back to her, placing the card back in your pocket after she swiped it. Humming softly she checks everything over before placing the papers into a file and setting that off to the side of her desk to deal with later. She stands up and you do the same.

"It was nice doing business with you." she smiles and holds out her hand for you to shake.

You grab her hand lightly and give it a firm shake that Bro would be proud of. She pulls her hand back before Karkat can shake it, but it's not like that mattered because he didn't seem very keen to touch her anyways. She hands you all of the papers you need before hushering you and Karkat out of the office.

"I hope you have fun with your troll." she smiles at you.

The office door shuts behind you. It takes you a minute to find out the way out of the building that is designed to look like a damn maze. When you start to walk Karkat follows behind you. It's not until after you've walked out the front door and into the glaring sunlight do you realize you have no fucking idea what to do now that you have your troll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so awesome. Thank you so much for all the encouragement, kudos, and comments! :D
> 
> Also, I fixed the spelling. Thanks! :)


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Karkat, I’m not your master, all right? Just call me Dave. And I’m not ordering you to do anything, ever, okay? I’m not your ‘master’ or ‘owner’ or anything like that, I’m just Dave. Just like you aren’t ‘my slave’, you’re just Karkat.” He says, trying to keep his voice level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! so here's the next chapter! sorry it took longer than I thought.  
> And woah, I never expected so many hits on this! :D  
> It makes me feel amazing so thank you!

The harsh, unwavering heat is the first thing that hits you when you walk out of the pound. Unlike in the pound which has its air conditioners whirring away at all hours of the day and night, filling the entire place with a loud humming noise, the outside feels like stepping into an oven. The heat presses down all around you, and having on a black turtle neck sure as hell is not helping the problem.

The other thing you notice is how fucking bright it is out here. Your eyes aren’t used to this amount of light after spending weeks in a small cell with the only light coming off the dim bulbs above which are supposed to keep the trolls in a calmer state of mind. Squinting your eyes shut you become aware that the other’s footsteps have stopped, making you realize that you yourself had ceased in following him.

Blinking away the brightness, you let your vision adjust to the new amount of light surrounding you.  He’s standing in front of you with a poker face expression plastered on his face. In his shades you try to see his eyes but all you can see is your own image reflected back at you, and it’s not an image you particularly want to see. You’re a bit taken aback when your yellow eyes are reflected back, it looks like your fucking bags have bags. The dark grey rings have always been a trademark of yours, making you look like you haven’t slept in a few days, but now you just look sick.

With self-disgust filling you you look away from him so your reflection can’t mock you with how low you’ve become.

His voice drags you out of your thoughts.

“You alright?”

The way he asks you, concern tinting the edges of his question, has rage presenting itself in you. You didn’t need him to save you. You didn’t fucking ask him to come barging into that sale like a fucking knight on his mighty ass fine stead. But most importantly you sure as hell didn’t ask him to act like a concerned fucking douche, and yes, he has to be acting because who can take any sort of pity on a the worst scum on this fuckass planet.

This isn’t one of your romcom’s that you would catch on the television whenever your master…ex master, wasn’t home. You aren’t going to be taken pity on by anyone and then be whisked away to live happily ever after because halle-fucking-lujah some dumbass nooklicking bulgesucker is able to get over your shit appearance and personality and get over your mutated blood to grace you with an ounce of their fucking pity. That will never happen in real life, and it especially won’t happen to the likes of you.

Which can only mean one thing.

He is toying with you. You’ve heard of people like this before, people who like to delude themselves, acting like they can give a single fuck about you. They will keep up this charade for as long as possible until the troll starts to have actual red or pale feelings for the human. The human may grow attached to the troll but they never will commit into a relationship with one. They will lead the troll on constantly, the troll pining for someone they can never be with. It’s not even that humans don’t understand the concept of quadrants because some do, it’s because an actual romantic relationship between a troll and human is one that’s not accepted in society, which is fucking hypocritical considering they can pail with one, as long as it’s not in a romantic notion.

You would rather have been bought by the other douchebag even though he scared you shitless than be with someone who plays with your feelings. Hell, you’d rather have been sent to one of the government facilities. You can handle being hit, mistreated, and abused, but you have always had overwhelming emotions that you can’t control.

Without answering him you start to walk forward again, your not fully healed leg straining against every step, your muscles pulling tight, an uncomfortable pull knotting in your leg as you walk. Instead of sitting on your ass the whole time you should have been moving around in your cell, stretching the muscle out so it didn’t become this difficult to walk and you mentally berate yourself for not doing it.

Dave turns and starts to walk ahead of you, but only by a small amount, staying close enough to you in case you need help. Only if he would walk a little faster and stop hovering over you like a fucking human mother then you could at least fool yourself into thinking that you would in the very least have a chance to make a run for it, live up to your troublemaking name. In all honesty in this state you doubt you would be able to make it far before he would tackle your ass to the ground. Even if you weren’t disadvantaged by your leg the other male is in far better condition than you are.

He stops at a truck with the grey paint peeling and rusting around the tires. The door gives a protesting squeak when it’s opened wide, revealing the interior of the vehicle. He looks at you expectantly, waving a single hand in a wide underhanded arch toward the open door in an exaggerated way that grates on your nerves.

“After you kitten.”

With a glare you grumble a “fuck you” before lifting the uninjured foot up onto the booster. His hand comes up and presses on your lower back, pushing you forward when you lose your balance for a second and you growl at him low in your throat. It takes all of your will not to go into a rage at him, the only reason why you’re holding back is because as much as you hate it, he’s your new master. If he gives you an outright command you have to obey it. You also don’t want to get on his bad side if you can help it, at least not yet.

Under you, the plush black seat sinks when you sit down, curling your dirty feet up on the dashboard just to spite him. With a thud he closes the door and walks around the hood of the truck, your eyes following his movement as he walks. He opens the door to the driver’s seat and hops in. Shifting his body he manages to shove his hand in one of his pockets and brings out a ring with two keys attached to it. You’re grateful when he finally turns the engine over and a rush of cold air hits your boiling skin.

Watching out of your window, angling your face just so in order to get the full blast of air conditioning on your face, he pulls out of the parking space and onto the main road, the grey truck mingling with many other cars of all colors, sizes, shapes, and models.

Uneasiness swishes through your digestive sack as the car drives down the road. You have no idea what you are going to be taken to, what kind of new life you are going to be living once you arrive at your new masters house. The uncertainty is settling thickly in the pit of your stomach, your anxiety growing with every tension filled moment when Dave speaks up.

“So how’d you get the limp?”

“Read the fucking papers.” You respond, still not looking at him.

The last thing you want to do is go through that entire story, and especially with this douche who’s pretending to actually care. All humans really care about is how bad an injury is, if the injury will disable the troll, they don’t care how it happened or why.

“It’ll be easier if you just tell me so I don’t have to read through all the boring shit. I’d rather hear it from your point of view then the asshole who did it to you.” He says as he turns onto a busier street.

Tearing your gaze away from the window you look at him, glaring. “Is that a fucking order, master?” the last word is practically a snarl, adding to the tension in the enclosed space.

He looks over at you as the car comes to a stop at a red light. You have to fight back the urge to rip those stupid ass aviators off of his face to see his reaction. You did take some satisfaction from the way his lips twitched just the slightest bit.

“Karkat, I’m not your master, all right? Just call me Dave. And I’m not ordering you to do anything, ever, okay? I’m not your ‘master’ or ‘owner’ or anything like that, I’m just Dave. Just like you aren’t ‘my slave’, you’re just Karkat.” He says, trying to keep his voice level.

God, all you want is for him to quite with this whole ‘I just want to help you’ shit. He bought you for fucks sake! You are his slave, just like it says in the documents. Pretending any differently will only hurt you, besides with the mark on your chest you won’t ever be able to forget.

“Don’t worry, I can walk.” You growl out and turn back to window watching.

“That’s not what I mean. I wouldn’t care if you were a vegetable just rolling around on the ground, I would have still saved you fro-“

“I never fucking asked you to save me asshole!” you yell at him, turning back to look at him. “You overpaid for a piece of shit troll and you expect me to get down on my fucking knees and bow down to you like you’re fucking God? I would have been fine without some pompous douche muffin standing up for me. I would rather choke on a thousand throbbing bulges than show any sort of gratefulness to you so you can get off thinking you’re some selfless ass who’s doing some poor troll a favor.”

Your breath is coming out in hot little huffs when you finish your rant, the one that you immediately regret because once again for the umpteenth time your mouth worked before your brain.

His hand moves from resting on the middle compartment making you flinch from the motion. The hard slap to your face is something that you’re expecting, so when his hand doesn’t come into contact with your skin your eyes widen even more with surprise. Even people who liked to pretend they were just the most gallant person in existence wouldn’t put up with being spoken to that way by a troll, no less one that is supposed to be the lowest of the blood caste, which is still better than your actual mutant blood color.

You’re uncertain as to how you should react to this, by being treated so differently from what you are used to.

There’s an itch in your hands, wanting to latch onto the door handle and fling it open, so you can jump out of the enclosed space. You want to feel the pavement under your feet and see the blur of the buildings as you race by, searching for a dark alley or corner that you can safely tuck yourself away in.

Maybe, just maybe, you can do it this time. Perhaps this time you’ll be able to hide out in a dark space until nighttime, from there you can blend in with the sheet of darkness. Last time you obviously hadn’t spent too much time thinking about the actual probability of making it to the tree line, putting a shit load of hope into the mad dash working out instead of putting any real strategy into it. Where the field left you bare on all fronts, no protection or something to hide behind considering the land was flat and grassy, the city has buildings on buildings, shops practically overlapping with the other, multiple hidden walk ways and alleys, and plenty of people and trolls traveling the crowded sidewalks as well as cars filling the streets.

The amount of civilians is an advantage about as much as it is a disadvantage. Blending in will become easier because of the large crowds, but where there are a lot of people there are also a lot more guards. You have more of a chance getting caught by a random cop on these streets than you had during your first run. Another advantage you have right now is that you’re in the middle of traffic at a stop light, surrounded by other cars on all sides. You doubt he would leave his car here so he could run after you, meaning he would be waiting for the light to turn green and search for you by driving around or parking the car and going on foot. Either way, you would be getting more time, raising your chances even though your leg will weigh you down, tacking on extra time.

Your hand is inching towards the handle when the car lurches forward, the light having turned green. With a sigh you rest your hand where it is, giving up all thoughts of disappearing into a crowd.

“Karkat,” Dave’s voice fills the silent truck, and you look back over at him to see he’s facing you. “I’m not going to hurt you. Boy scouts honor. No one can break a boy scout honor bro.”

His words ring true to your ears, and you find yourself wanting to believe him but you just…can’t. You aren’t willing to take that risk, of believing him only for him to hurt you later on, or even worse for you to get some sort of feeling for the other besides platonic hate.

The only response you can give him is a quiet, disbelieving snort before focusing on the landscape outside passing you by.  It’s a possibility that you heard a small sigh from the other but you aren’t sure if your ears are just playing tricks on you.

The rest of the ride you two are quite, the only sound being the murmur of the motor. It only takes a few minutes more of sitting in the seat in the awkward silence until he is pulling up to a building, parking the vehicle in between two faded yellow lines. The building isn’t all that great looking, actually it wouldn’t hurt to give it a new paint job and touch up, the only thing somewhat making it different than any other building around is the mere size since it towers over just about every other building in sight besides a few company owned ones.

 He has the car off and keys back in his pockets even before you are able to open the door and jump down to the pavement below, a sharp jolt going through you from the hard impact that has you grimacing.

You squint your eyes to try and shield out the over bright sunlight as you walk around the truck and onto the sidewalk where he is already waiting for you. Without a look in his direction you walk up to him, following as he leads the way to the buildings entrance. The room you walk into is large with a few dingy chairs set off to a corner situated around a small table. Hanging from one wall is a TV and on the same wall small mailbox compartments for the occupants if the complex.

Across from the entrance is an elevator that you head over to before a hand lands on your shoulder, making you halt in your steps.

“That’s broken karcrab. “ He says, removing his hand.

“Then how the fuck are we going up?” you growl out.

In response he motions for you to follow him. He leads you to a door that’s painted the inviting yellow the rest of the room is. Behind it are steep, ongoing stairs, a platform dividing the seat of stairs from one floor to the other. The walls are grey bricks, the only light source coming from a metal hanging lamp directly over each platform.

“What floor do we have to go to?” you ask.

“All the way to the top cause there ain’t no way a Strider will ever be on the bottom.” He grins over at you.

Rolling your eyes at him you begin to take the stairs, your hand gripping hard onto the support rail so you can put your balance on that instead of your foot. You’ve gotten to the sixth floor, Strider always quickly going up the steps before you, only to stop at the landing to wait for you, leaning back against the wall. After he had reached out to help you and you pushed his hand off with a snarl he hasn’t tried to help since.

You step up onto the flat landing, your leg throbbing under you. Trying your best to ignore the way the taller male is eyeing you watchfully you step up onto the first step leading to floor seven when your foot gives under you from too much strain, your hands gripping tightly onto the bar to keep you from face planting on the stairs.

Before you have time to straighten yourself out one of his arms pushes at the back of your knees, the rest of your body falling backwards to be caught by his other. He is holding you close to his chest like human mothers will hold their babies as he quickly walks up the stairs. Even though he is carrying you he seems to have no problem as he continues up the stairs. Even though he seems to have a lean body he must have some good muscles if he can carry you.

Your mouth is open from shock, your eyes wide, until it clicks and you scowl up at him.

“Put me the fuck down!” you yell at him, trying to struggle out of his grip.

He only tightens his hold on you as he speaks. “No can do kitten.”

“Yes you can asshole! And call me kitten one more time and I will shove your fucking intestines down your fucking proteinchute until you choke on your own insides.” You threaten, only having been made angrier when you saw the corners of his mouth twitch up in a grin.

“Sorry _kitten,_ but I’d rather get to my apartment before the apocalypse happens. With the way you are moving I’ll be an old man, grown beard and all, playing checkers with the eighty-nine year old neighbor while I wait for you.”

“I don’t want your damn help” you growl at him furiously.

“I’m not helping you kitkat, I’m helping myself by not spending my whole life on a flight of stairs.”

You continue to struggle in his grip for a few more floors until you grew tired of fighting when he obviously wasn’t going to be letting you down any time soon. Step after step you find yourself getting heavy lidded, eyes starting to close as his smell fills you nose. It isn’t a bad smell, not at all what you would expect. The only sound between either of you is when he makes a comment about how light you are, comparing you to a bag of wet feathers.

 

 The day had been a long and exhausting one for you, not only physically but mentally and emotionally. So when he wakes you up, you’re head resting against his shoulder and your warm breath on his neck, you hadn’t even realized you had fallen asleep. Apparently he had walked up the rest of the floors with your head snuggling into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

He sets you down on your feet in front of a door, a dull blush dusting across your cheeks from embarrassment. The door clicks open and he waits for you to walk in ahead of him. Keeping your eyes trained away from him you walk into the apartment.

There’s a couch and a TV in the middle of the main room, a table filled with old food cartages and boxes, a shitty sword leaning up against one wall and there better not be fucking bugs in this place or you will flip your shit.

 As you walk further into the room he closes the door behind you with a soft click. Nerves begin to get the best of you as you take in the new, unfamiliar area, your hands pulling at the end of your frayed sleeves.

“I’m going to order a pizza while you go shower, alright? Cause no offense but you look like you haven’t seen a decent shower in days. I’ll leave some clothes for you outside the door. The bathroom’s down that hall way.” He says, pointing.

Before you get chance to follow the direction he pointed out his cool hands are at the front of your neck, making your entire body stiffen.  Fabric slides against fabric as he takes the collar off, tossing it over onto the table nearby. When the collar comes off it feels easier to breath, not having that weight on.

The carpet is soft under your feet as you move down the hall, the bathroom coming into your line of vision. Once the door is closed firmly behind you slid down the door and down onto the tile floor beneath. Taking deep breathes you try to calm yourself down from the day. You don’t know him, or this place, what he wants from you. Back in the car you had kept a small sense of being in control, but here nothing is up to you now.

But maybe he really isn’t like everyone else that who know of. He did keep his promise by taking off the collar after all. And he didn’t seem mad to have to carry you up the stairs or the fact that you fell asleep on him. A glimmer of hope fills you that maybe being bought by him won’t be such a bad thing.

You push the feeling away as you get back up onto your feet, avoiding the mirror as you turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm up. When the temperature is good and God is it great to have warm water, you peel yourself out of the dirty clothes hanging loose on your frame. Stepping into the shower you sigh in relief, the feeling of warm water washing the day away relaxing you.

Squeezing some soap out of the bottle you rub it on your body until the water is clear instead of the brownish black color as the dirt washes off your skin. The place on your leg where the arrow had sunk in isn’t too bad anymore. The wound has nearly healed over after the weeks, just a scab remaining although the damage to your muscles is much worse. Carefully you rub around the area, trying to massage the tension away.

The worst part, the thing that makes you cringe, is having to see the brand on the right side of your chest. The words are an angry grey/red, bumping up on your skin. Barely brushing your hand over the area you spread the soap and let the water wash it off. You can stilll feel the memories of the pain, the burning sensation put on dull as if your subconscious just wants to fucking remind you, as if the brand itself isn’t enough.

Quickly you scrub your hair clean and step out of the shower, cold air wrapping around you as soon as the water is gone. Finding a fluffy white towel in a cupboard you dry off, still avoiding looking into the bathroom mirror. With the towel wrapped around you you open the door, steam escaping into the hallway, and spot a pile of clothes on the floor.

After the door is closed again you unfold the clothes, revealing a white t-shirt and some red boxers with music notes.

“Why the fuck did it have to be boxers?” you grumble to yourself as pull the bottoms up that won’t cover up the multiple scars on your legs, mainly the one from the arrow.

At least the T-shirt covers up the mark.

“What do you want me to do with my clothes?” you call out to him as you stare at them.

“Just push them into the corner, I’ll get them later.”

You do just what he said, balling them up and shoving them into the farthest corner of the bathroom. The smell of pizza assaults your nose when you leave the bathroom and walk into the living room. Your mouth is watering at the thought of eating something besides the slob they call food at the pound.

Sure enough, a pizza box is on the counter, the lid opened to reveal all the cheesy goodness, pepperonis laid perfectly around the circular pizza. Dave walks over to the counter, plates held in his hand. He gives one to you before picking two pieces for himself, the cheese stretching from piece to piece. He looks at you expectantly.

Was he just teasing you? Taking his time to eat in front of you before you can get any yourself? You glare back at him.

“Are you going to fucking eat or just stare at me?” you ask, annoyed.

“I will when you start eating.” He replies.

Your glare turns into a look of confusion. “You aren’t… going to eat first?”

 “Nah man, that’s just rude. Karkat, I’m not like whatever asshole you lived with before. You can eat whenever and whatever you want, okay? This isn’t a prison.”

You keep your eyes on him, looking at his shades which he still hasn’t removed for some reason even though you are in the fucking house, what a douche. You snatch two pieces out of the box and set them on your plate. He grins at you before walking to the next room, settling himself down on the couch. You follow and sit on the far end, taking a bite of the food, letting the taste explode on your tongue.

Dave has just finished his first piece as you pop in the last bite of crust, some show you’re not paying attention to lighting up the TV screen. Your stomach growls up at you and you try your best to quiet it down.

“You can have more if you want.” He offers.

“If I did would probably puke it all up.” You shift in your spot, glancing over at him.

He nods and holds a hand out to you, palm up. Realizing the only thing you have to give him is the plate you hand it over, hoping that’s what he wanted. He stands up swiftly, heading off towards the kitchen.

He walks back in just as a yawn hits you. Today has really taken a lot out of you.

“Oh, um, we don’t have another room. You can sleep in my bed or on the couch…”

“I’ll sleep here.” You answer quickly as you stretch out on the furniture.

“Okay, but first let me look at your leg.”

You automatically snap back up to attention, sitting up rigidly, a low warning growl rumbling in the back of your throat. He’s moving towards you slowly, a hand reaching out toward you.“I’m only going to look at it, that’s it. I’m not going to hurt you Karkat. Can I just make sure it isn’t infected or something?” he asks.

You keep your eyes steady on him as he stops his advances, the growling never subsiding even as you give him permission, turning your leg at a better angle for him to look at it.

 When his cool, long fingers gently graze your skin around the area the growling subsides, but you never take your eyes off of him, making sure he will keep to his promise of not hurting you. He turns your leg this way and that, pressing down on some spots to see your reactions. Sometimes you would growl or hiss in pain which made him rapidly remove his hands from your leg.

 After about five minutes of observing the area he nods almost as if to himself. “It looks like it’s healing up pretty well. I’ll talk to Rose about it tomorrow. I think it would be best if you got some sleep.”

He leaves the room and you curl up on your side, your face snuggling into the cushions after having looked at your leg to see it looks the same. All of the stress and emotions from today are slowly leaving your body, letting you truly relax as you let go. Your leg is throbbing a little but not too bad to stop you from going to sleep. The last thing you remember is feeling a blanket being draped over you before your eyes close for the night.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left comments and kudos or have bookmarked this C:


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bro visits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing major happens in this chapter, it's just setting up the plot for the next one :)
> 
> Also, if anyone knows how to put the pesterchum conversations in color it would be amazing if you could message me and tell me how.
> 
> Thank you guys for the kudos! Helpful criticism is always appreciated. C:

\--turntechGodhead began pestering tentacleTherapist—

TG: yo lalonde

TG: rose

TG: don’t leave me hanging here

TG: im a kid chillen on the swing waiting for you give me a push here

TG: just swaying back and forth pathetically

TG: watching all the other kids getting pushed while im sitting here all alone wondering where the fuck I went wrong to not earn me my swing buddy

TG: just kid waiting for the ice cream truck and hearing it roll by only to realize I don’t have a dollar to go buy myself a push pop

TG: stuck listening to that teasing song as it serves all the other kids in the neighborhood

TT: Good evening Dave. It seems that every time you say a metaphor it is revealing more and more of your mind’s innermost thoughts. Would you like to analyze and take a closer look at why you automatically went to such depressing and lonely metaphors.

TG: im not here for you to pick my brain with your psychoanalytic therapy shit

TG: im here on serious business

TG: getting all professional and shit over here

TG: fixing my perfectly ironic bowtie and grabbing my briefcase

TT:As endearing as that all is I’m going to have to be brief with you as I was in the middle of something before you began to pester me. I’m not trying to sound terrible rude here but is this important or are you just bored like usual?

TG: do trolls heal the same way as humans

TG: like if they got some kind of infection going on would it show the same signs it would on a human

TT: Hold on, let me ask Kanaya as she would probably know more on the subject.

TT: Could You Described How It Looks For Me Please?

TG: oh hey maryam

TG: its scabbed over black

TG: I think its badly messed up under the skin cause he cant walk without limping a little or having to stop

TG: had to go all tarzan on the little fella when we were walking up the stairs so we got home before the next Olympics

TT: I Believe That He Will Be Fine, Although You Should Keep An Eye On The Injury In Case It Does Become Infected, Although I Think It Is Past That Possibility If It Is Already Scabbed Over. The Limp May Be Permanent Depending On What Happened. If It Seems To Bother Him You Can Go Get Him Medical Treatment.

TG: alright cool

TT: Am I correct in assuming that you finally went out and bought yourself a troll?

TG: damn lalonde, hitting the mark on the bullseye once again

TG: had to go through this kickass bidding war that I nearly survived with my life in order to get crabkat

TT: Do you know what happened to him?

TG: no idea

TG: I asked him how it happened but he wouldn’t tell me and the papers didn’t say anything

TG: they were less informative than a street drunk giving someone medical advice about a person’s feet

TG: just standing there swaying saying that you have eight toes on one foot

TT: Maybe if you let him adjust for a little bit to his new situation he might tell you, unless you want me to try and talk to him?

TG: no way in hell lalonde am I going to let you pick apart Karkat’s brain with your knitting needles

TG: enough people are already subjected to your mind attacks

TT: Alright, perhaps another day then. I am afraid I have to go now, as I have been keeping a lovely someone waiting for too long already. Goodbye, Dave.                                

\--tenticleTherapist ceased pestering turntechGodhead—              

After Rose logs off you glance through the other two names on your pesterchum list, both of them greyed out along with tenticleTherapist. You log out of your persterchum all the while wondering who this ‘lovely someone’ Rose has been keeping waiting on her is and shut down your computer, deciding you should go check on Karkat on last time before falling asleep yourself.   

Pushing back the computer chair you stand up, stretching your arms up towards the ceiling with a yawn. The door to your room is slightly ajar, letting small noises reach your ears as you get closer to it. Pushing the door open farther, looking out curiously into the living room trying to locate the source of the strange sounds, you walk into the hallway.

In the living room a low sound hits your ears and makes you look toward the couch where the grey troll is twisting and turning in his sleep, the blanket pooling on the floor below from all of his jerky movements. The light from the TV throws shadows across his face, distorting his features into a pained looking expression that has your heart aching in your chest. You wish so badly that you knew how to take away all of his pain and suffering.

Another small, broken whimper has you moving towards the sleeping troll in search of a way to help him.

Kneeling down next to the couch you reach a hand out carefully, not wanting to wake him up from his nightmare yet, and place it gently in his thick, black hair. With whispered hushes and scratching lightly at his scalp in hopes that it will calm him down and relax him back into sleep.

You stay next to him like this for a few minutes, watching as his twisting slows down until it’s at a complete stop, the heart wrenching sounds having quieted down also, only giving a small chitter in the back of his throat every now and then. Once you’re sure that whatever thoughts had been terrorizing him before have vanished, leaving his face peaceful and relaxed, is when you stand up again, pulling the blanket back into place and tucking it in around him.

You take a second to study him like this, noting exactly how young he truly looks without the scowl contorting his features, the planes of his grey face relaxing smoothly. When he was yelling at you earlier in the car you weren’t hurt or mad so much as being pissed off at his life, at the people that made him think that way. Even when he’s peacefully asleep his mouth is still slightly tilted down into a frown, as if it had permanently been placed there after years of ceaseless disappointments.

Once again you find yourself wanting to give him everything, whatever possible in order to make him happy. In fact, you’re going to make that your life’s goal to see him smile, actually truly smile.

You pull the covers up a little bit more and fix the pillow under his head, then you click the TV off and retreat back to your room. Plopping down on your bed you realize just how tired you are as your muscles relax and the pillows form around your head perfectly, comforting you as sleep takes over.                                       

                                                                                   ________________________________________________________________   

Over the course of the next two weeks Karkat becomes more comfortable around you. He talks, well…rages really, at you almost constantly and you’re happy to learn that that’s just his personality, that he doesn’t hate you…at least you don’t think he does. As you spend time with him you notice small things he does that must be engrained into him from his life of being a slave.

The first few days were the worst. He would walk into a room after you, even if he was in front of you on your way to the door. He didn’t talk as much as he does now, and when he did he would be careful to keep his eyes lowered. When you walked into a room he would stand up, an act that must have been built into him through years of service since he didn’t seem to think twice about the movement, and wouldn’t sit back down until you had. You’re pretty sure that if you had wanted the spot he was sitting in he would have gotten up and moved for you. He would hand over the remote for the TV to you if you sat in the living room, which you would hand back to him so he would continue to watch his romcom or reality TV shows that he seems to like so much, considering they are always on.

It took a lot of coaxing from you but he hardly acts like he’s a slave and more like he’s an actual fucking person. Every now and then you’ll catch him doing an action he would have done back in his old life. You’ll watch him as he goes to rise when you enter the room, then stop midway when he realizes what he’s doing, and slowly lower himself back down onto the couch, looking embarrassed or like a dog waiting to get scolded.

It still twisted your heart every time he flinches away from you, like you’re going to smack him across his face, and anger will flare up in you for whatever asshole made him so afraid of people.

You have your headphones over your ears, going over some of your latest sick beats, looking for ways to turn them into the fucking bubonic plague from how sick they are. Glancing at the clock you see you’ve been doing this for a while, the hours of the day having been slipping past you into evening. Sliding the headphones down to around your neck you hear a rumble rip through the room, alerting you to your empty stomach.

A sigh escaping your lips you stand up and stretch, then set your headphones on your desk before heading over to the door. Not only are you starved, but you haven’t heard anything from Karkat in a while, not even the dull hum of his shows.

Even though you haven’t seen the troll asleep since the very first night you still expect to see him sleeping, curled up on the couch with a small snore rumbling through his chest so when you find a note in his place it catches you by surprise.

“WENT TO DO LAUNDRY.”

A spark of worry goes through you that he might try to make a break for it. The only thing stopping you from going down those steps three floors to the laundry mat the building had placed every five floors, thank fuck, is you reminding yourself that he did the laundry the second night while you were sleeping and he still came back. Really if he wanted to run away he had multiple opportunities to do so and yet he’s still here.

You walk into the kitchen, tossing the note into the garbage bin and holy shit Bro’s standing in front of the fridge, pushing the week old Chinese off to the side. You didn’t think he was coming back for another few weeks, at least. Instead of letting your surprise show through you mask it with the cool kid exterior you’ve carefully crafted.

“Sup Bro.”

“Yo, lil man.” He greets you, still searching through the fridge.

Reaching into a cupboard you grab out a cup for your AJ when Bro’s deep rumble of a voice fills the air.

“So where is this four thousand dollar rustblood that I’ve heard about?” he asks as he turns around. It’s the voice he used when you used to get into fights when you were in middle school, a measured calm which makes it impossible to tell whether he is pissed at you. The first fight you can remember clearly, while the rest became a blur to you. The first one had started when a prick kid saw your eyes and had deemed you a freak. You had gotten your ass handed to you that day. It didn’t take long for more fights to follow, whether or not other kids believed the first (which they mostly didn’t).

The day you came home from the first incident Bro had used this exact voice on you as he asked what had happened. You had been so scared then at the mere thought of disappointing Bro that you almost did the uncool thing and cry, almost. Once you had told him what happened and he realized it wasn’t you who had started the scuffle he eased up on you, fixed you up, and a week later began to train you with strifes so you could defend yourself.

Soon instead of getting your ass handed to you by your classmates you were serving them theirs on a fucking gold platter with a garnish to top it all off. The fights has stopped along with the harassment as soon as they realized that you weren’t helpless, that you would fight back.

“He went to do the laundry.” You state as you move around Bro and grab your beloved drink.

He nods, as if waiting for you to continue.

“I couldn’t just leave him to that asshole Bro, it would have been like the grandmother offering lil red up to the wolf with a plateful of cookies. The shit just wouldn’t be right.” You fill up your glass as you talk.

“He must be one special troll then.” Bro replies after a moment of silence with the ghost of a grin that you have to look up to catch.

You nod slightly as you take a sip from your glass as Bro turns back around and grumbles into the fridge.

“There’s no food in here…Not even some of that Thai shit you like.” He stands back up straight. “Yo, you wanna go have a strife session before getting something to eat?”

“If we go to that corner diner.”

Bro nods his consent, then makes his way out of the kitchen to head up for the roof. Ever since that one time the sofa had gotten sliced by your katana strifes have taken place on the roof where your furniture would be safe from the flailing swords.

Quickly drinking the rest of your juice you follow after your older brother, making your way up the stairs with your katana in hand. You can still feel the noticeable temperature change as you go from the air cooled building up onto the roof, but it isn’t as hot the last time you and Bro strifed. The sun is lower in the sky, signaling the day wrapping itself up into an end. There’s even a nice, almost nonexistent breeze blowing across the roof’s cement surface.

Bro is already there, waiting for you with his sword at the ready when you emerge from the stairwell. He’s grinning like he usually does when he strifes, a grin that is dripping with confidence, daring you to knock it off his face.

“Loser’s payin for dinner so ya better get your money ready lil’ man.” He says as you make your way over to him, sword raised and ready.

In answer you swing your weapon at him, aiming for his midsection but he flashsteps away from your attack and makes one of his own that you swiftly move out of the way from. Soon you are relaxing into the strife. Your body moving with ease as you swing and dodge, your muscles stretching as you move. Moving like this, just using your instinct and skills, not even having to think of your next attack or how to dodge a hit since it’s all coming so naturally to you. It’s like putting on a shirt, a task you do easily.  

You’re so caught up in the fight at hand, focused on this and only this, that you don’t notice Karkat climbing up the stairs. You also don’t notice as he watches the two of you, a mixed expression on his face.

Bro makes a move towards you with his sword and it lands on your stomach, you being too slow to move out of the way. It’s only a shallow cut that won’t take much to heal. In another fast attack Bro swings the opposite way and this time you manage to miss the blow, flashstepping around him, your eyes landing on…Karkat?

The surprising eyeful of Karkat looking torn between wanting to leave and staying right where he is has you freezing mid-step, the current strife at hand forgotten. His cheeks and tips of his ears are tinted with blush as his eyes lock on yours, his ears lowering down as he holds the eye contact.

In a rush Karkat leaves your vision, replaced by grey cement as Bro knocks your feet out from under you, landing face first into the hard concrete. You fight back a groan of pain from the rough impact, as the point of Bro’s katana is pressed lightly on your back, hard enough to make you aware of its being there.

“Fuck.” You breathe out as his chuckle sounds from above you, removing his sword from your back.

“Looks like you’re payin” He says while you push youself up onto your feet.

Turning to look at Karkat you see him trying to slink his way down the stairs unnoticed.

“Karkat.” You call out to him, making him halt in his steps, turning around to look back at you, having forgotten the few bleeding cuts Bro had gotten in.

“So you’re the troll my lil’ man bought.” Bro drawls, making a gesture for Karkat to move closer.

He growls but moves closer nonetheless, looking down at the cement floor as he does. Karkat was just getting used to you but getting used to Bro is a completely different thing. Where you have lithe muscles Bro’s are more obvious, stretching his shirt tight over his biceps. Bro also has a presence around him that could make fucking Hercules bow down to him if he asked with the right tone.  It has to be hard for any troll to disobey Bro, no matter that trolls background.

Standing in front of Bro you notice how small the other actually is. Ever since he got here two weeks ago he seemed to be getting plumper, looking like a normal troll instead of an emaciated one. His color even seemed to be getting better, not as pale as before. Even with the new weight it doesn’t change how small his frame is though.

Without another word Bro just holds out the katana you had dropped on the floor out towards him, leaving him the hilt to grab. You raise your eyebrows at the gesture and watch as Karkat’s eyes scan over the object quickly, then looking at you as if he’s looking for you to answer whether or not he should take it, his growling having come to an abrupt end. You give him a small shrug in answer, leaving the choice completely up to him. He still keeps his eyes off Bro as he slowly shakes his head, denying the offer.

Bro shrugs and hands the sword over to you, which you take from him and casually hold it in one hand. Karkat’s shoulders visibly lose some of the tension he had been keeping in them, but he still looks uncomfortable as hell, most likely because of the unfamiliarity of the new stranger.

As Bro walks past you towards the stairs, Karkat stands stiff still and you think he’s even holding in breath. After Karkat glances back behind him to make sure Bro has left he looks back at you, his frame relaxing knowing it’s just you and him.

“So Crabkat, ya wanna go out for a night?” you ask with a grin.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat, Dave, and Bro go out to a restaurant where they run into some interesting people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Look at who is finally updating! It is me, that is who. :) I would like to begin by saying that I am super duper sorry for not updating in a while, although I hope the length of this chapter will make up for it, which is less than three hundred words from 10,000. I wish I could have given you all a warning but I went on a camping trip that I wasn't sure if I was going on until a week before, and the original three days turned into four more but it was really fun! C:  
> Also, Summer AP work has been kicking my ass for the last month although I kind of deserve it since I just had to procrastinate until the last month to do it all.   
> Speaking of which school is starting in about two weeks and i'm going to try my best to get another chapter up before then although I can't make any promises because that AP work is still currently kicking my ass.   
> So once again, I'm sorry. Now I'll shut up so you can read :)

 

 

 

When you get back to the apartment, arms full of freshly cleaned laundry, you find the place to be empty. After setting the basket of clothes down onto the floor you check the entire place, with the exception of the one room that always has a closed door, the one where Dave had piled the smuppets in front of while telling you that he wouldn’t dare go in there to see what kind of fucked up shit Bro keeps in there, whoever Bro is.

 

Your bottom lip is pulled in between your nubby teeth so you can worry on it. Dave has never just left before without telling you or leaving you a small note or…something. The longest he left the apartment was when he went to the store but he had left you food and some shitty ‘ironic’ movies before he left.

 

Thinking he may have left a note on the door for you you walk back out into the warm hallway. Inspecting the door and the area around it you find no sign of a message being left behind. With searching eyes you glance down both ends of the hallway, eyes roaming over door upon door and coming up with nothing until your gaze catches on a single one at the very end of the hall that has been left slightly ajar.

 

Walking tentatively towards the light grey door an overwhelming feeling of worry fills your gut. Pulling the door open reveals what looks like an endless amount of steps leading upwards ad disappearing into the warmth of the stuffy space. Great, more stairs.

 

You’re about to turn around to go back to the safety of the couch you’ve adopted when your ears perk up as the sound of murmured voices drift down to you. Standing at the very bottom of the steps you fight with yourself whether or not you should go back to your comfortable spot that’s beginning to mold perfectly to your ass with the pillow leaning against the arm rest or if you should go inspect what’s at the top of these god damned stairs. You sure to fuck it would take less time to climb the fucking Everest Mountain than climb to the roof of this building.

 

If Dave is up there then what the fuck is he doing? Does he go up there for air? Did someone bring him up there? After all, he didn’t tell you he was going somewhere and this door was left open… 

 

 The thought crosses you thinkpan that Dave might be up there in danger and your legs are moving before you realize it. 

 

You’re glad that your leg barely bothers you anymore, only getting a dull ache when you walk or stand for over fifteen minutes at a time. When Dave had checked the wound the first night you arrived here you had been wary of him, trying to understand how giving you any type of treatment would benefit him. A small part of you, a part you told to shut up, was grateful that he was showing you kindness. You figured that he was just checking to make sure you could still work. After two weeks of being here he still hasn’t made you do any type of work besides when you clean because you can’t stand living somewhere that’s more suited for an oinkbeast. It’s nice, but you can’t help but wait nervously for the other foot to drop.

 

You reach the halfway mark of the staircase when you realize the fact that you’re worried, for a human who’s technically your master. A nauseating feeling fills your stomach, causing you to stop mid-step.

 

The first time a human had hit happened the first day you were forced to leave the safety of the jadebloods’ care. Everything had been so new, different, and frightening to you the day your old master had taken you but you hid your inner rampaging emotions with a loud, opinionative mouth. When something you said displeased your master he had delivered a hard slap across your face, lip splitting from the force and head snapping to the side. It wasn’t the hit that had you raging with anger, it was the fact that you couldn’t defend yourself. You were used to getting in small scuffles with your old friends and were able to hold your own perfectly fine. At the mercy of this human, you had no rights, you had no chance. With fists clenched tightly beside your sides you fought the intense urge to punch him right the fuck back and vowed to yourself that you would never feel anything besides hatred toward humans. That feeling was only intensified as the abuse continued. 

 

Worry is a feeling that’s way too close for comfort to pale or red quadrants.

 

There is no fucking way you are about to let yourself feel that way towards Dave Strider, the person you’re enslaved to. There is no way you’re about to become one of those trolls. 

 

Back when the jadebloods explained the rolls of trolls to you you had thought about having a relationship with a human because that could make a great fucking romance book, meaning the perfect love story for you. Your views about that sort of relationship changed drastically as soon as you were enslaved to one.

 

Dave Strider may be kind to you when no one else has been, and treats you like a fucking person instead of a mindless beast, likes to talk to you opposed to at you, he even does the damn work with you, but none of that can change the fact that he’s a human.

 

Is it really that odd to worry about your food source? You begin to rationalize with yourself. It’s a normal primal instinct to keep track of your food supplier that keeps you surviving. He’s also your key to a warm couch and all the fucking romcom’s you could ever dream of watching due to Net-flix. No, you decide, it isn’t irrational to get worried when the only thing keeping you with a belly full of food and gives you hours full of movies may be getting hurt. 

 

Continuing your climb with that satisfactory realization you can hear the sounds grow louder the closer to the top you get, a muffled thud of metal against metal drifting down to you. Without knowing so your steps quicken as you move, anxiety taking its grip on you. In front of the door at the very top of the stairs you take in a deep breath to prepare yourself for whatever situation you might stumble into when you open it. 

 

The handle is cold in your hands as you turn it, pushing the door open quietly and taking a few steps onto the cement rooftop when your spot them.

 

You bodies goes rigid as you watch Dave and an older male in the middle of a fight. The gleam of the sunlight bouncing of the swords has your eyes catching their swift movements as they slice through the air in what looks like an effortless movement to them both. From here you can see a bit of sweat beading on both of their skins while they fight. 

 

Your breath catches in your throat when you see a perfect opportunity for the older male to strike Dave in what could be a very damaging blow, maybe even lethal. The sword in the strange males hand swings in a graceful arch, his muscles rippling in his bicep, heading for the spot of unguarded midsection on Dave, you find yourself wanting to run at them but your feet seem to be rooted to the spot. You want to look away, don’t want to see the gushing off all too red human blood that is sure to come when the sword hits his soft human body but your worthless thinkpan won’t allow you to look away as the sword slices through the air and…only cuts his shirt?  

 

You blink in confusion as the battle continues before you. That had been the perfect chance for the other to strike Dave down, to injure him enough so he couldn’t move, leaving him defenseless. The fight doesn’t seem like a simple playful scuffle. All of the moves these two are making are precise ones that can leave immense damage to the other opponent. The theory of the older male just fucking the hit up tremendously is proven wrong when it happens again. The only reason you can come up with for endeavoring deathblows and then never delivering is because they are in a kismesis relationship but even then some of the blows would be landing, and humans are too much of a narrow-minded species to do troll romance. 

 

Behind you the thud of something landing on the floor sounds, followed by an exclaim of “fuck” from Dave.

 

“Looks like you’re payin’.” A voice you haven’t heard before says with an undertone of smugness.

 

Weighing your chances of being able to sneak back downstairs unnoticed you decide there is a nonexistent chance of that happening when you hear Dave calling your name. You turn around quickly, eyes snapping up to lock on him. You are really starting to fucking hate you’re inability of leaving unnoticed.

 

You hate even more that you can feel the heat forming on your cheeks that you have to force to calm the fuck down so the mutant blood secret you keep so tight under lock and key isn’t exposed. 

 

“So you’re the troll my lil’ man bought?” it’s the older one who spoke to you with a deep, authoritative voice. 

 

Looking at him you notice he looks a lot like Dave in the bone structure, with hair just a few shades darker. He seems to have an air of importance surrounding him, even when wearing a ball cap and pointy shades that are one hundred percent fucking more ridiculous than Dave’s idiotic aviators. If the smug air that seemed to surround him wasn’t enough to irritate you the fucking hand gesture to move closer made you want to shove a rusty fucking culling fork up his ass.

 

You don’t want to do as he gestures, especially when he has just done the greatest douchebag of a motion towards you in history, the fucktard. It’s hard to admit it to yourself but even if he wasn’t in familiarity with Dave you would still have moved towards him, an action that has been carved into your fucking bones is to never disobey an adult, whether it’s a human or troll. This doesn’t stop you from voicing your dislike though since you growl lowly in your chest at him. 

 

You keep your eyes away from him, another thing trained into you. Your old master hadn’t allowed his trolls to make direct eye contact with him and it hadn’t stopped you from looking straight at Dave since he was around your age but it’s different when the person is at least two times your size.

 

The glint off the metal of a sword as you flinching but the sword is only held out to you by the male in a gloved hand. Your eyes scanned the sword, not understanding. Is he asking if you want to fight? Did he want you to carry the weapon? To clean it? 

 

“Up for a strife lil’ troll?” he asks.

 

The growling stops as you glance at Dave, wanting to see his reaction to watch as his pale eyebrows rise above the rim of his shades. He gives you a small shrug, leaving the offer completely up for you to decide whether or not you want to.

 

“No thank you, Sir.” You say on instinct.

 

When he shrugs relief fills you but when he hands the sword over to Dave, your body unintentionally tensing up as he moves. As soon as you hear the pointy shaded human walking away your body relaxes, growing comfortable without the unfamiliar male there. Just to make sure the other is truly gone you glance behind you to see empty space.

 

Turning back towards Dave you see a grin on his pale face.

 

“So Crabkat, ya wanna go out for a night?” he asks.

 

“Fuck no.” you reply immediately.

 

“What? C’mon Karkat. You can’t stay hidden away in the house forever. It’s not fair to keep your hot ass all to myself all the time Kitkat. You got to let other people witness that fine ass. Don’t make everyone suffer by never gracing them with your sweet booty.” He says.

 

“If you mention my ass one more time I swear to fuck I will choke you to death with your own disgusting intestines you insufferable prick.” Dave opens his mouth to interrupt you but you continue on. “No, shut the fuck up Strider and listen for once. Grab a fucking notebook and get ready to write this information down so you just might actually learn something for once in your life. Even if I had the smallest ounce of desire to go out in public, which trust me I don’t, I wouldn’t be able to as it clearly states in the fucking papers you obviously haven’t bothered to read. I’m not a bulgefucking companion troll. I’m a work troll.”

 

“So?” he asks.

 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you ask, exasperated. “How in the ever loving fuck have you managed to survive this long? It is a damn miracle that anyone who doesn’t have a rotten nook for a brain gave you a fucking troll in the first place. You’re like an idiotic, pantshitting asshole who buys a woofbeast without knowing how the fuck to feed the beast.”

 

“Yo Vantas, I understand that you might have all day but Strider’s are important people. I can’t wait ‘till Christmas for your explanation.” He twirls his sword as he talks.

 

“Important? Are you trying to pull my fucking grubleg here?” with a sigh you continue, “A companion troll are mostly highbloods. Highbloods are expansive fuckers so humans don’t want to waste their precious fucking money so they’re generally treated better than working trolls. The only thing they do is hang out with their owners, though they don’t have an easier time than the lower castes. Many are used for pailing.  Lowbloods are used for sex too but not as frequently since they’re seen as trash. Lowbloods are working trolls. They get the work that humans don’t want to do which can go from housekeeping to working in factories. Working trolls don’t go out to eat, or go see movies, their whole lives revolve around their work because no one wants to wear thrift store clothes while everyone else is at least showing off a three hundred dollar bag. Middlebloods fall inbetween the two.”

 

“Did you really just compare trolls to clothes?” he asks with a smirk.

 

“Yes I fucking did.” You growl back.

 

“Do people enforce whether trolls are working trolls or companion trolls?” he asks.

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

“Then I don’t see any issues with bringing you to a restaurant.” Before you get a chance to disagree he offers you a compromise. “If you go you can have one of your shitty movie marathons, complete with popcorn and low-fat ice cream.”

 

Crossing your arms you think over whether it’s worth it to go out in public. 

 

Averting your gaze from him you scowl down at the ground. “…Fine. But,” you look back up at him, just daring him to deny you. “I want all-fat ice cream.”

 

He’s laughing at you, making your arms cross defensively and scowl at him. When his laughs subside he has the most infuriating smirk to ever have graced humanity on his face.

 

“Deal. Now let’s go Kittycat, can’t be late for our first date.” 

 

Without saying anything you start to walk back towards the staircase as the feeling of this being a terrible idea fills you. As you push open the door to the stairs you try suffocating that uneasy feeling. You’ve always had trouble going out in public and going with Dave seems to make it all worse. Even without knowing about your fucking mutated genes humans and trolls alike are likely to make comments about where you’re placement on the caste is. To make it worse Dave is going to be there which is just making you cringe at the thought. On top of that is the constant egging fear that one day someone will know you’re a fraud, that you’re a mutant. Soon everyone will be able to tell with a simple glance in your direction when your eyes fill in more, but you don’t even want to think about that now. You’ll just deal with that when it happens…maybe Dave has a spare pair of shades or something.

 

Dave follows behind you with his sword being held a few inches above the stairs. It’s unnerving how quiet he can be. His movements are the complete opposite of his mouth though, which is randomly vomiting out words to himself at all hours of the day and night. 

 

“Who is he?” you ask.

 

“Huh? Oh, my brother. I call him Bro.” he answers. 

 

“But I thought you said that he’s hardly home.” Your voice ends up coming out more accusatory than you had intended.

 

“He usually isn’t. He just came by with his overprotective brotherly nature. Just came here to check up on me since I got you. Had to make sure I wasn’t getting impaled to death by your nubby little horns.”

 

You growl at him. “Shut the fuck up Strider before I shove your sword up your impossible ass.”

 

“Oooh, are you coming onto me Vantas? You sure know how to make an honorable lady blush.”

 

“I am not fucking ‘coming onto you’ you hornfucker. The last thing I am doing is coming onto you. And don’t kid yourself, we both know that you aren’t honorable.” You snark back.

 

“Did you just say I’m an open business Karkles? Well, I would have you know that I don’t open my backdoor for anyone.”

 

“Fuck off.” You snap, opening the door and walking back into the hallway. 

 

Dave walks beside as you make your way to the apartment. The carpet underneath your feet is an unappealing color of cream that probably hasn’t seen a good washing in years. Next to one of the apartment doors is a dark stain that seems suspiciously like blood to you, making your stomach feel sick.

 

With a grand gesture that you roll your eyes at Dave opens the door for you, allowing you to walk inside first. Bro, as Dave refers to him, is sitting in your spot in front of the television with his feet resting on the coffee table and both muscled arms relaxed behind his head. Moving farther into the room you notice he has kept his shades on too. These humans are just fucking ridiculous. 

 

Neither of the humans say anything as Dave walks past the couch, heading for his own room. You’re not sure what to do… if you should follow Dave or stay with this intimidating human who is in your fucking spot. Glancing again at Bros biceps has your mind made up. Definitely Dave.

 

 Trying to keep a steady walking pace and not speed-walk you follow Dave into his bedroom. You’ve been here a few times before when cleaning but that doesn’t stop you from still getting a bit freaked out over his dead creatures collection. He had claimed it to be ironic just like how he says all the asinine stupid shit he does is for the purpose of irony.

 

You sit on the very edge of his bed, the mattress giving a tiny squeak of protests as a spring moves under you. Dave turns back around from facing his closet with a new shirt in his hands. His pale brows raise above the rim of his shades when he spots you there.

 

“Just can’t wait to get an eyeful of this hot Strider bod, huh? I understand. Sometimes it’s hard for myself to walk away from the mirror. My reflection is just string back at me like, ‘hey there sexy. How you doing?’ and I’m just like, ‘I’d be doing better if I was doing you.’” He says, perfect poker face intact.

 

“Oh yes asshole, I simply just cannot get enough of your flat, pasty ass. The gods of whatever fucked up religion you believe in have obviously gifted.” Sarcasm drips heavily from your voice, completed with an eyeroll.  

 

“Checking out my ass Kitkat. You make me feel so flattered. I’m a lady from the eighteen hundreds over here, covering my face with a hand fan to hide my burning blush.”

 

“Go suck a blistering bulge.” You growl.

 

He just smirks before pulling his shirt off and tossing it to the corner of his room. Your gaze is filled with a leaned muscled chest. As he moves his muscles move under his skin. Your eyes take an appreciative stroll over his body, looking at the slight bump of muscles in his arms, to his firm stomach, and then finally lower. He’s not as ripped as stranger Strider out there but he sure as hell is a nice view. 

 

When his new shirt begins to flutter over his chest you snap yourself out of eyeing Dave, looking down at the floor filled with annoyance at yourself. You were just appreciating his figure, completely different from checking him out. At least, that’s what you’re going to continue to tell yourself.

 

“What about the cuts?” you ask, having notice two with crusted blood already forming a scab over the mark.

 

He shrugs. “There’re fine. I’ve had worse before.”

 

“Do you guys do that a lot?” you ask curiously.

 

“What? Strife? Yeah, Bro’s been training me since I was like, nine or something. He is like, the Jackie Chan of sword fighting. I’m not as good as him but I could kick some major ass. Haven’t you strifed before? I thought trolls would normally get into a shit load of fights considering how violent the race is.”

 

“Of course I’ve been in fights before assmucher.” You answer.

 

Thank god you and Sollux used to practice fighting when you were wrigglers. If you hadn’t you most likely would never have won a fight that had depended on your survival, fights over food or warmth against other trolls. You’re size was seen as something to mock you over, making you seem like an easy win, but you’re short stature had allowed you speed and agility. You really hope that asshole Captor wasn’t as cocky with his psionics as he grew older so that no one would use him as a free electricity source.

 

“So… are you really planning on going out in that hoodie?” he asks while pocketing some money.

 

“What the fucks wrong with my clothes?” you snap defensively.

 

“Nothing’s wrong with it, just that it’s fucking summer and just a degree short of being Satan’s asshole today.” 

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Okay okay. If you want to go pass out from overheating and end up in the hospital that’s completely up to you.” He shrugs.

 

Grumbling you pull of your hoodie which you’ve been using as a safety blanket since getting it, figuring that you do not want to get found out because you were too much of a fucking imbecile.  Underneath it you have on a black turtle neck. It is fucking hot wearing both of those thick fabrics but it makes you feel more secure with yourself, trying desperately to keep your mark away so no one will be able to be notice it. You even hide it from yourself, never looking in mirrors because you can’t stand to see yourself.

 

“Holy shit, how are you not overheated?” Dave asks with what seems to be genuine concern there.

 

“Are we fucking going or not? Or maybe my pants aren’t fitting up to the Striders appeal approval now?” you just want to get this sure to be nightmare the fuck over with already. 

 

“Yeah, just calm your alien tits Kat. Gotta go tell Bro and we’ll be gone.”

 

Your stomach does a fucking flip when he tells you that the intimidating male is coming along. All the more reason to get this the fuck over with as fast as possible. It’s not that you personally don’t like the guy, you don’t even really know him to decide that, just on the basis that he’s an adult human male is enough for you. Trolls treat human adults the same they do to troll adults; with fear.

 

As Dave heads out of his room you get off the bed to follow him, leaving the hoodie where you left it by the pillow in a crumbled heap. When you walk out you see Bro wiggling his eyebrows at Dave, and you can swear there’s a blush dusting Dave’s his cheeks. 

 

The red collar is resting in its regular spot; thrown onto the small table by the door. This collar Is different from the one the pound gave you. You had watched warily as Dave had pulled it out of the shopping bag but he hadn’t drawn any attention to it, instead just tossed it onto the wood table where it has remained since. You’re not sure what happened to the other one; maybe he just throw it out.

 

Now you’re glaring at the object. You know you have to put it on in order to go anywhere but you really don’t want to. You’ve managed to escape its clutching hold when you go downstairs to wash the clothes, but that’s only because you’re staying in the building and even then it’s a risky move.  Going out in public without it is most certainly not an option.

 

With a snarl as if that could make the thing go away you pick up the collar in your trimmed-clawed hands. The dark red fabric is soft compared to the old rough one that made you itchy. It’s also thinner than the first one, as if it’s just a necklace instead of a god damned show of property. At least this one isn’t permanent. 

 

Unclipping the latch on it takes a few tries since it’s meant for human fingers opposed to troll’s. The thicker skin and shot nubs for nails make opening the tiny clamp almost impossible. You really hate that you have to have your nails at such an unnatural length. It just complicates every fucking thing you do.

 

If you thought it took you a long time to undo it then it took you a fucking eternity to reconnect the damn thing when you have the smooth collar around your neck. Instinct makes you flinch as Dave’s long fingers go towards you neck only to grab the metal clasp and connect it at the lowest rung, allowing the collar to hang away from the front of your neck so you don’t feel like you’re an inch away from being strangled. 

 

Embarrassment makes you look away from him, ears lowing as they turn a light shade of red at the tips. He hasn’t laid a single finger on you but you even though he’s had more than enough reason to beat the shit out of you by this point. It had taken you a few days to talk to him like you and actually be you instead of the trained good little troll you’re supposed to be and you’re constantly surprised that he has never hit you because of your mouth. You know he is most likely not going to hit you that doesn’t stop your instinct to flinch away from him.

 

The TV flashes off as Bro stands up, picking a set of keys off the table in front of him and striding toward the door. You fall into step behind Dave’s he follows, turning the lock on the door while briefly debating if you could get away with locking yourself into the apartment but decide against it since they have the key to the door, and close it firmly behind you before making the dreaded way down the stairs.   

 

When you finally reach the bottom of the staircase to the main floor your leg has an ache that you’re certain won’t be going away for the remainder of the night. You glance around the room and gratefully see that it’s empty besides for you, Dave, and Bro. Maybe wherever you’re going won’t be too overcrowded; you really hope it won’t be but you aren’t counting on it.

 

The sun is already making its way down the horizon now, the sky filled with pinks, oranges, and reds. In the opposite side of the sky above you can see a few glimmering stars overhead. The night breeze has begun to move throughout the city, taking the suffering heat and turning it into a comfortable warm air but still too hot to have worn your hoodie too.

 

You’re surprised when the other two walk past Dave’s grey truck, instead stopping in front of a bright red slugbug with orange flames on the hood and sides of it which makes you cringe internally. When Bro opens up the driver’s door and gets in you look at Dave with a ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ expression. 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now Strider?”

 

“What? Do you not like old Elizabeth here?” he asks.

 

“Fuck no I don’t. The fact that you even named that pile of wasted metal only makes it worse. There is no way in hell that we can all fit in that ridiculous pile of scrap metal. I would rather die by suffocating in a fucking seadwellers nook than get in that gaudy thing.” You say, crossing your arms.

 

“Well you can always sit in my lap Kittycat.” He smirks at you. “Or you can calm your nubby little horns and sit in the backseat. And don’t be so mean to Lizzie, you’re going to hurt her feelings. If you don’t get in then no movie marathon with ice cream.”

 

Well shit, you hadn’t realized that there was a backseat in the first place. And you really do want that ice cream…

 

“Fuck you, I’ll take the backseat.” You snap out, embarrassed. As you make your way to the door Dave is standing by you grumble in irritation. “Why the fuck do there have to be flames?”

 

“All for the love of irony.” He says while he opens the door, grabs the back of his seat, and pushes it forward for you to climb into the backseats.

 

Still grumbling to yourself you clamber into the backseat, losing you footing and all so gracefully falling face first into the plush seat, your nose squishing up uncomfortably on the plush seat.

 

You send a glare at Dave who is snickering before setting yourself right in the seat behind Dave’s and clicking in the seatbelt. The belt hits the collar around your neck, making you have to adjust it so it won’t rub against your skin to give you a burn.

 

Once Dave gets in the car Bro drives out of the parking space and out onto the roads with Dave messing around with the music. Besides the beat from the radio the car ride is quiet, thank god. You don’t think you would be able to talk with the nerves filling you stomach, and the presence of Bro just makes it worse for you to feel comfortable. You watch out the small window, noting your surroundings in case you need to abscond quickly from whatever might happen at where ever you’re going. 

 

You pass a movie theater featuring some new romance coming out and find yourself thinking how much you wish things were different for you. Only if you were human you would be able to freely go to the movies whenever you want. You would be able to make lasting friends instead of watching the trolls close by you with a cautious eye in case they decide to try anything. Only if you were human you wouldn’t have been this disgusting, off the hemospectrum troll you are. Only if…

 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Dave says something to you, waiting with a hand holding the seat to make room for you to get out. You hadn’t even noticed that The car had been parked. Quickly you click the seatbelt free and slide out of the car, proud for catching yourself before you stumbled this time. As he closes the car door behind you you take in your surroundings. In front of you is a restaurant with the parking lot filled with cars of all sizes and shapes. Now you really wish you had told Dave to just fuck off about you wearing your hoodie as you itch to put your hands in the hoodies pocket that you’re not wearing. Instead you settle for wringing the end of your sweater between your fingers. 

 

“You’re going to be fine Karkat, you have me.” You blink and look at Dave, worry still clearly written on your face that you hope that he can’t notice the fear underneath. He reaches down slowly to gently grab one of your grey hands that’s off colored where scars are. 

 

You’re eyes widen from shock at his caring touch. The kind of relaxing touch a moirail or maybe even a matesprit would give their partner. What is he doing? He’s human, so he probably just doesn’t understand the implications of such a kind gesture. Carefully you move your smaller hands out of his before you can become even more confused and self-conscious. 

 

You go to open your mouth to respond but it feels dry, so instead you just nod at him. As long as you stay by him you’ll be fine. For some unthinkable reason he actually seems to give a shit whether you live so he won’t let anything bad happen, right? 

 

Following close to his side you walk into the wooden restaurant, looking wearily at everyone you pass. The place isn’t as packed as you would have expected it to be but that doesn’t make it any better. There are way too many bodies by you, too many curious eyes looking at you. At least back at the pound you felt more secure knowing that they couldn’t reach out to grab you or hurt you since there was a firm line of metal bars in their way. Here, everything is open which has you extremely on edge about the whole situation. 

 

Along with every group of human there is at least one troll. Some of them have leashes attached to their collars, the end being held tightly in a human’s grasp. There are trolls around your age as well as adult trolls who you immediately avert your gaze from. The part of you who pays attention to details notices that all of the colors are at the very lowest green, but you just put it off to lowbloods being working trolls. 

 

You’re grateful when you are seated in the back of the establishment in the less crowded area of the place. Sliding into the booth with Dave slides in across from you so you scoot as close to the wall as physically possible, feeling to defenseless with the open spot next to you. Bro sits besides Dave.

 

The restaurant has a country theme, with checkered table clothes and tin lights overhead hanging down above the middle of the table. The walls and chairs are made out of wood, with checkered coverings on the plush seats. Pictures with country themes are hanging from the walls, a deer head mounted over the entrance to the bathrooms and holy fuck that doesn’t seem sanitary. You really don’t understand human’s fascination with saving dead things. 

 

A menu is set in front of you after Dave pulls them out of the holder. You glance down at the cover and flip through the pages even though you doubt you’ll be able to get any food here. Places like this aren’t exactly known for serving gutterbloods. By the time you’ve looked over the entire menu you have a list formulated in your thinkpan of the food that sounds good. You can hear Dave and his brother talking across from you but you don’t plan on saying anything to draw attention to you unless asked a direct question. 

 

The waitress who arrives has her brown high pulled up into a high pony tail and the apron around her waist tied a little bit too tightly. Her over make-uped pudgy face has a forced smile planted on her pink lip-glossed lips. In her hand is a pen and an ordering pad. 

 

“I’m Lydia and I’ll be your server today. What can I get y’all ta drink?” she asks.

 

Her eyes first land on Bro and you can see her eyes roaming over him. Even after he ordered a beer her gaze stayed on him to the point you were getting uncomfortable with the fact you are sure she’s eye fucking him in the middle of the damn resteruant, finally broken when Dave ordered himself a pop. She quickly wrote the items down, sticking her pen in her apron pocket about to leave when Bro stopped her.

 

“Aren’t ya forgetting someone doll?” his words seem casual enough but you could detect a warning tone underneath that has your ears flicking back.

 

She stops, turning back toward the table with a puzzled expression on her face. She opens her mouth, probably on the terms to say something along the lines that she didn’t see anyone else, until her dull brown eyes landed on you. 

 

“Do ya mean that?” she points a manicured finger in your direction.

 

You have to bite hard on your tongue to distract yourself with pain so you don’t growl at her. Dave has his hand clenched into a fist on the table, mouth in a thin line.

 

“Yes.” Bro responds in a clipped tone.

 

“Oh. We don’t serve gutterbloods here, especially not a rustblood. The lowest troll we serve here are olivebloods. If ya wanna go somewhere that’ll serve _that_ than ya gotta go someplace with lower standards. I hear the bar two blocks down aint bad.”

 

You look away from them to stare down at the table, begging for them to drop the subject and not cause a problem.

 

“I believe you should recheck the policy because I’m certain that it’s changed.” Bro says in a seemingly friendly manner but his rigid body language tells a different story. 

 

Of course the complete opposite of what you wanted is happening. 

 

Her now nervous gaze travels from Bro, Dave, you, then back to Bro. Her posture changes, switching her foot uneasily. 

 

“What does he want to drink?” she asks Bro, directing her gaze and question away from you. 

 

Instead of just answering for you like you are fucking hoping he would do he looks at you, giving you the signal to tell her yourself. 

 

“A coke please, miss.” You say hesitantly, hoping she won’t have your asses thrown out. You hate having to add on the miss but after getting the shit beaten out of you when you were younger for not adding them on it kind of becomes a habit.

 

She writes it down on the pad before storming in between the rows of tables back to the bustling kitchens. Your eyes return to the table with your ears flicked down as you grumble, “Great, now all of the food will be fucking spit in.”

 

“It’s fine Karkat.” Dave says next to you, causing you to look up at him, noticing how he seems to be having trouble keeping on his expressionless mask. “We didn’t come here just for some racist place to be a dick about serving you.”

 

While you wait you don’t talk much, just watch the others around you or listen to the conversation between Dave and Bro, which there isn’t much of. When the waitress comes back she all but slams the drinks down onto the table.

 

“What do ya want to eat?” she asks, arms crossed against her chest and not even bothering to grab out her notepad. 

 

This time she looked in your general direction when you told her what you wanted to eat. After she had everyone’s order she disappeared to go tend to others with her fake nice attitude. Not much longer after the waitress left Bro stands up, saying he was going to go see if his friend Jane was working tonight in the kitchen. 

 

“I was hoping you’d get to meet John tonight but I don’t think he’s working.” Dave says over the noise of the country music.

 

“Why the fuck do you want him to meet me?” you ask with a scowl.

 

“Because I know that you’d both get along well. His trolls a bit of a bitch, but she’s not that bad.”

 

“Please enlighten me by explaining how you know I’d get along with this human.” You say sarcastically. 

 

“You both have shitty tastes in movies. Really, really shitty, cheesy movies.” He grins at you from across the table. 

 

“I do not have shitty tastes in movies you uncultured oink-beast! My movies are highly fucking sophisticated pieces of damn art that go into the deepest part of fucking relationships and emotions. Maybe if you would actually sit the fuck down and shut that continuously moving proteinchute of yours that you constantly let filth vomit out of.” You respond with the same heat you would have back at the apartment, having forgotten where you are at with the comfortable banter.

 

He’s smirking at you. “Nah, you’re movies would still suck even if I was quiet.”

 

Before you get to respond you feel the seat under you shift as someone else slides into the booth with you. Feeling an arm come up to rest on the back of the booth has your muscles freezing up, feeling a coldness radiate from it. The smell is unfamiliar to you so you know it isn’t Bro. No, this smell is too… troll to be a human. At least you think its troll. There’s a strong odd sweet odder covering it up that has your nose scrunching up in distaste and almost imposable to tell what the species is. 

 

Shit, you know that smell. The overly sweet, odd scent. It’s the one that filled your old master’s house. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Did he find you? Did he send someone after your worthless ass when he found out you hadn’t been killed off so he could kill you himself? You’re going to be sick…fuck, you’re shaking.

 

“Hey there my lil’ rustblooded motherfucker.” A deep voice sounds next to you.

 

The voice is unfamiliar to you. Maybe this is a new troll he had bought? Your heart stops in your chest as you decide you have to look at him. 

 

Turning to look at the stranger you’re met by a messy head of with two long, curly horns poking out of the mane. Next you take in his face, which is heavily covered in white face paint making him look like a clown, sharp canines showing through in his grin that you can only describe as lazy. Your panic starts to really set in when you notice the indigo collar around his neck, a bright contrast to the color of his skin. 

 

Your overly warm blood runs cold in your veins. 

 

You don’t get much time to take in the clown troll because a new voice cuts in, drawing your attention to the person now seated next to Dave. He has a head of black hair with eyes that are a brownish-red that seem to take in everything around him with a dissatisfied look. 

 

“Gamzee, you stupid worthless clown. I told you I was going to talk first.” He scolds angrily.

 

 The indigo next to you, apparently named Gamzee, turns his lazy grin to the human male. Was he sent here to collect you too? “Sorry my motherfucking master, I just couldn’t keep my wait on to talk to this brother.”

 

A deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in is released from your lungs. They aren’t a part of your old master’s group since you know every person in it and the human male isn’t familiar. You also highly doubt he would have sent a human to get you since he had all the trolls do his dirty work.

 

“Yo, Caliborn, are you looking for Bro?” Dave asks the human next to him.

 

“No. I already talked to that dumbass. Let’s not talk about that prick. I have a business proposal for you. A game. Do you want to play a game?” Caliborn talks in clipped sentences. 

 

“What’s the game?” Dave raises a pale eyebrow at him. 

 

You feel a cold hand poke the tip of your nose, a loud “Honk!” following the action that distracts you from their conversation.

 

Surprise fills you as you snap your head in the direction of the highblood. “What the fuck are you doing?!?” you growl out, part annoyance, part fear.

 

“I’m just all up and honking on a motherfucker is all.” He replies with a grin.

 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You bare your teeth at him in warning. 

 

“But you’re so motherfucking cute bro.” he says nonchalantly. 

 

Your eyes widen in shock, your cheeks heating up and you will the blush not to show. Is he seriously fucking hitting on you right now? He just met you for fucks sake!

 

“There you go again. All up and blushing and making me want to get my motherfucking papping on.”

 

“Are you fucking pale flirting with me?!?” you exclaim.

 

“Of course I am my little brother. I don’t all up and know a motherfucking troll who couldn’t be wanting to get his motherfucking pale on with you.”

 

“Are you fucking serious you obtuse fuck? Did you fuck up that soup of a thinkpan you have? You can’t just go up to a troll and fucking ask that! It’s a relationship that takes time to build it right the fuck up before just asking! You don’t even know my damn name you fuckass.” Well at least now you don’t have to worry about him snapping your neck for insulting him since he has pale inclinations towards you. 

 

He laughs, a hand coming up to lazily pap your cheek which you push off. “Haha you’re so funny my miracle brother.” 

 

“Are you a mentally issued grub? Go fuck off.” You cross your arms and scowl at him.

 

“Nah brother, I’m going to stay here with my best friend.”

 

“The fuck I am your best friend you crazyass juggalo. You need to stop smoking that fucking human drug if you want to keep whatever ounce of thinkpan you have left.”

 

“Haha, my motherfucking thinkpan is miraculously good my brother. I can all up and share with you if you want some. You seem like the most high strung motherfucker I’ve ever met, which is saying a lot considering Calbro’s my owner. It’ll let your pan all up and get the resting it deserves.” He says with a jutting thumb in the direction of the human stranger at the mention of Caliborn.

 

“Fuck no I’m not smoking anything with you! I actually want to have a fucking functioning thinkpan. You don’t even know what that shit could do to a troll.” You reply, a frown forming on your lips.

 

“It’s fine motherfucker. I’m as happy as a can of the wicked elixir.” He smiles widely at you, giving you a nice view of his sharp highblood teeth.

 

“That doesn’t make an+ inkling of since you bucketlicker.”

 

An irritated click sounds in your throat that surprises the fuck out of you. You’ve wanted to make those noises at Dave before but had been able to stop yourself. The only time trolls generally make clicking or chirping sounds is when they are in the presence of a quadrant mate or someone you’re close to, a way that allows them to express their emotions without voicing them. You haven’t made those sounds since before you were taken away from the jadebloods and put into your old master’s house. Fuck, you really hope he didn’t hear that. It would only make him continue his pale flirting.

 

Of fucking course he just had to hear it, returning the sound with a small chirp. Quickly your hand reaches out and lands on his cold highblood chest, pushing him slightly away from you with a firm “fuck no.” growled at him.

 

Your turn your attention back to Dave and Caliborn just in time to hear Dave talking in a firm voice. “No. Kittycat just isn’t that kind of a troll. He’s more of a housecat than an alley one. There’s no fucking way that’s gonna be happening here.”

 

You want to snap at him for the shitty cat comparison but Caliborn is talking before you get a chance. “He’s a rustblood. Easy to replace. And you can get money from this Dave. A lot of money. If you play the game right you can get enough money for five fucking shitty rustbloods.”

 

Worry hits through you as you listen to Caliborn. What the fuck is he even talking about? You look over at Dave worriedly. Are they making a bet? From the sound of it if Dave agrees then you’re not going to be with him anymore and that has you flipping the fuck out. He’s not just going to leave you, right?

 

“No can do bro. I’ve told you, he just isn’t that kind of a troll. I know he seems like a fucking tough fucker but on the inside he’s sweet like fucking candy. Kind of like the power puff girls. Sweet, spice, and everything nice? Or some shit like that. Oh, and if you don’t feel like running into Bro then I suggest you hightail your ass out of this booth ASAP. Cause he’s on his way over.” Dave tells him.

 

Caliborn’s head swivels in the direction of where Bro is indeed heading back to the table. Just as abruptly as he had appeared here, Caliborn is standing up. “If you change your mind call me. Clown, let’s go.”

 

He doesn’t wait for Gamzee before absconding away from the table, weaving in between the tables and becoming undeterminable in a crowd of people. A cold hand paps your shoulder, making you focus on the troll next to you again.

 

“I’ll all up and see you later best friend.” He grins at you and stands up out of the seat. 

 

The first thing you notice is holy fuck is he tall. He has to be at least six feet tall with all lanky limbs and unruly hair that’s worse than yours. You shudder at just the thought of what he would look like after he pupates again into his adult troll form. 

 

When you can’t see his black pants with purple polka-dots you turn to Dave. “What the fuck was that about?”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” he replies simply as if that’s going to satisfy you.

 

Bro sits down in his seat next to Dave, shortly followed by the waitress with your three platters of food. You had ordered chicken tenders since it was one of the cheapest dishes on the menu list. You would rather have had a steak because then you could order it where it still is somewhat raw but you already felt guilty enough at getting anything here.

 

You take a bite of the chicken tentatively, not sure how it would taste only to have flavor exploding across your tastebuds. You find all previous worry about whether your food had been subject to the staffs spit as you gobble the food down, savoring every last and single morsel of it, going as far as to lick the ends of your fingers. 

 

Throughout the meal no one talks, just silently enjoying their food and you’re more than perfectly fine with that. You’re the first on to finish the meal so you lay your head down on the table to return to people watching the other customers and workers.

 

It doesn’t take long for your mind to drift back to Gamzee. Was he really so openly pale hitting on you or was he just messing around? And why the fuck had you clicked at him? Could you actually view him that way? Somewhere in your mind you must have because your body had obviously thought he was a possibility for a quadrantmate. Fuck, you haven’t had to deal with this shit since you were a wriggler and those were only for crushes that hadn’t been returned. You wished it had stayed that way.

 

Dave brings you out of your thoughts by tapping your head in between your horns to tell you it’s time to leave. They both had already finished eating and Dave has paid the bill. Sliding out of the booth you stretch your limbs before following Dave out of the restaurant, practically having a heart attack when you spotted an adult troll by the door but you managed to move past her without flipping your shit or having her take notice of you. 

 

Thankfully this time when you climb into the back seat of the car you don’t embarrass yourself by falling onto the fucking seat like an uncoordinated hoofbeast. The sky is now dark above with a chilly breeze blowing past the late night walkers milling about on the streets. Looking up at the sky you search through the hundreds of twinkling shiny lights above, wanting to see the one thing you’ve never been able to view, the thing that’s only ever mentioned in troll bedtime stories. But no matter how many times you’ve roamed your eyes through the dark night skies, you’ve never been able to find the troll’s home planet Alternia.

 

As you get out of the car and head up the stars you notice Dave is being uncharacteristically quiet the whole time. Glancing at him curiously you search his face to see if it might give anything away but it’s as passive as always. Maybe he finally fucking ran out of things to rap to himself about.

 

The walk up the stairs is sluggish and tiring. Without a belly full of food it had been a pain in the ass; with food in your stomach it just makes you sleepy with the continuous motion. 

 

Once inside the apartment Bro walks off to his bedroom, the one at the end of the hall that no one’s allowed to open but Bro himself. Dave grabs himself an apple juice before disappearing behind his door, leaving you in the living room with the TV. 

 

Plopping down onto the couch you flip on your favorite channel, but after about twenty minutes you find yourself feeling restless. You know trying to fall asleep is pointless with Bro in the house who you still don’t completely trust. He may have stuck up for you in the restaurant which doesn’t change the fact that he could still do whatever with you if you’re caught off guard. With a sigh you grab out a clean hoodie, boxers, and sweatpants from the laundry basket you that no one has put away yet, then head for the bathroom.

 

Hoping that a warm shower will calm you down you strip down after locking the door and step into the steaming water. Grabbing the soap you quickly lather the substance onto your skin, finding the wound on your leg has vanished, leaving behind a jagged, angry scar. When you get near the burn you still can’t bring yourself to run your fingers over the spot. Just knowing that it even exist makes you feel sick to your stomach. Quickly you scrub your hair clean with shampoo and conditioner before hopping out of the shower and throwing your clothes on so you don’t have to think any more about the brand on your skin, choosing to hide it so you can pretend it doesn’t exist. 

 

When you get out of the bathroom, steam following behind you as you walk out, you had expected to feel calmer, less anxious, but now you only feel sick to your stomach like every other time you’re reminded about the brand. Pacing back and forth in the living room you try to calm down. You really wish you hadn’t cleaned the place up yesterday because then you’d have something to keep you busy and your mind away from the haunting memories of the past. 

 

You halt to a stop in front of Dave’s room where you can hear his music playing from behind the door. He must not have gone to bed yet, unless he fell asleep with his music on. You begin to debate whether or not you should go in there. You doubt going in there with him for the night will help you get any sleep but it might make you feel better to be by him. He serves as a good distraction with his incessant talking when you need it. But he might not want you in there and you really don’t want to upset him. Then again he does owe you a romcom marathon with ice cream that you sure as fuck could go for right now…

 

Quickly you go to the kitchen, digging around in the freezer until you find a carton of ice cream, snatching up two spoons out of the drawer along two bowls in the oven that you don’t even question why the fuck they were put there, and head back to his door.

 

Biting your bottom lip in between your dull teeth you walk up to the door, a hesitant fist coming up to rap out lightly on the surface. You don’t get the time to think over what you’re doing before the door is opened by a Dave only in his boxers. You feel the heat rise up to your face as you try not to glance at his chest.

 

“You need something Kitkat?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe. 

 

“Yeah. You owe me a fucking movie marathon with ice cream.” You respond with the ice cream, spoons, and bowls cradled in your arms.

 

He doesn’t move for a moment, just looking back at you while standing motionless before moving back from the door, allowing you to enter. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been awesome and left kudos, comments, and bookmarked this! Heck, just thanks for even reading it! haha.   
> If any of you want to hit my up about the fic sometime my tumblr is negative0fox.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm sorry i'm about a week later than I thought I was going to be :( With school starting up again I've been super busy but i'm going to try my hardest to start posting new chapters for this fic around once a week, although i'm not promising anything.  
> This chapter isn't nearly as long as the last one although I think that the writing of it has improved, at least I hope it has.  
> Anyways, once again I tried to do the pesterlog colors and spent an hour trying to figure it out again but for some reason couldn't. I want to thank kittleimp.tumblr.com for trying to help me but I just am not good with coding and computers.  
> Okay, so ill shut up now so you can read :>  
> *spelling fixed! thanks for bringing it to my attention

Caliborn’s words continue to ring through your mind even with the heavy beat of your music enveloping you like an ocean  of water. The comfort of your soft bed that forms perfectly to fit your body isn’t able to rid the twisting feeling in your gut. Behind your closed eyelids Karkat’s face appears with the soundtrack of Caliborn’s voice accompanying it.

“The game that you will play. Is that you will put the lowblood. In a troll fight.”

Back when you were eleven you had been in the middle of one of your favorite pass times back then which was skateboarding throughout the hot Houston streets, you had happened upon a troll fighting ring.

The image of Karkat morphs, changing slowly into a mixture of old memories your brain is pulling up from the recesses of you mind.

                                                                *********************************

Dusk is setting throughout the city, bringing along with it the bright roaming car lights cutting a path through the darkness as people head home after a long day. School started a few weeks earlier, giving you a pile of homework waiting to be hurriedly filled out at home. Underneath you the wheels of your skateboard thud over the cracks in the different cement squares on the sidewalk.

You round a corner effortlessly, leaving behind you the dull circles of streetlights and being surrounded by the darkness of lightless back alleys and streets. You’ve been out on these streets long enough to know how to traverse between these areas without getting lost or running into gang areas, although you aren’t too worried about the latter. You aren’t exactly worried about being jumped either, and even if you happened to be you feel secure enough in your fighting skills thanks to Bro.

The darkness lightens up until you are covered in a circle of light as you make your way back out onto one of the main streets. Weaving your way in between cars waiting for the light to turn. You pop your board back up onto the sidewalk only to enter the veil of darkness once again when you enter a new side street.

You are just a few minutes away from your apartment when your eyes drift over to an abandoned factory building that hasn’t been operating for years. To your surprise there are lights shining through the dirty and cracked windows. Your curious nature has you making your way over towards it.

At first you thought it could just be some squatter who got lucky that the electricity was still running until you got closer to the building.

As you get close to the old building you can hear a people applauding and yelling inside of its confines. The noise only growing louder as your board rolls towards it. Rolling around the corner of the normally abandoned building you see multiple cars parked in the parking spots where they aren’t visible from the road leading to this place.

Before heading toward the door where two guys with arm muscles thicker than your thighs are standing guard you jump off your board, hit your foot onto one end of it in order for it to pop up so you can catch it in your hand, and then walk the short distance towards the entrance.

Another wave of immense shouting and yelling pour through the open doors when you stop in front of it. The two men look down at you in an unimpressed manner, their stance noticeably relaxing when they see it’s just a kid. Once the sound dies down one of them holds out a beefy palm.

“Ten dollars for entry.” He says.

After shuffling through your jeans pockets you’re able to cough up the ten dollars, handing it over with the realization that this man could probably crush your hand without giving it much effort. He pockets the crumpled green bill and gives a small nod, permitting you entrance into the building.

The sweet bro and hella jeff stickers you had painstakingly placed on your board are proudly on display on the underside as you walk through the peeling black painted doors onto the cement floor of the old factory building. Boxes line the walls of the stuffy room, many of them piled on top of each other in precarious piles. The bright fluorescent lighting above is overly bright and unflattering, and you’re grateful that you have your shades on.

In the middle of the room a crowd of people stand, some whistling, some yelling, and others making desperately wild gestures. Their backs are facing you, obviously their attention was on something in the middle of the dirty floor. Over the entire mass is a low hanging cloud of smoke, the grey swirling mystically within itself under the lights above.

Moving throughout the throng of tightly packed people, the population made up mostly of male although there are multiple women sprinkled throughout the group, you squeeze your way to the front to give you a clear, uninterrupted view of what all the commotion is about.

What you see has your stomach dropping down to your feet.

A metal cage has roughly been set up in the middle of large room. Placed along the outside perimeter of the wired cage are more built men much like the two placed outside. Each of these men are holding in their huge hands what can only be tasers buzzing softly with ready to use electricity.

It’s not until you are able to see the blood pooling up on the grey floor that you smell the metallic scent of it through the heavy haze of cigarette smoke. There are splashes of rust and blue blood on not only the floor inside of the cage but outside splatters. Closer to the edge of the makeshift ring is a large puddle of blue blood that’s beginning to get tacky, drying up to create a darker hue.

A whir of quick movement at the opposite end has your eyes quickly looking in that direction. As if the blood wasn’t enough to have bile rising in the back of your throat the state of the troll you’re now looking at certainly is.

The troll’s blue lips are peeled back from her teeth, her fangs glistening as she snarls. Black hair is covering one side of her face, slow droplets of blood dropping from the very tips of her hair. The thing that has you just seconds away from keeling over to vomit up your stomach is the fact that she has no fucking arm. Where her arm should be is just torn muscles and bone peeking through, blood soaking through her clothes as her body continues to pump the liquid into what it expects to be a limb. You’ve heard that the higher the troll is on the spectrum the more blood loss they can take before passing out or dying but holy fuck there is a lot of blood and you don’t understand how she hasn’t collapsed yet.

A warning growl draws your attention away from the one-armed troll and over to the other one. The first thing that catches your attention on her are the horns placed on her head, bright yellow and orange popping out through a forest of messy curls. Her horns curl backwards before heading back to the front in what reminds you of ram horns.

She’s crouched down with one hand placed on the ground, her red lips pulled back from her teeth in what can only be taken as menacing. The rust blood staining her outfit pops out compared to the dull colors of her tattered outfit. Her arm that isn’t balancing her out on the floor is pulled to her side with tight muscles. A grey hand the color of thunderstorm clouds is covered in blue, drops dripping rhythmically from the tip of a sharp machete.

Time seems to freeze as the two trolls stared each other down, waiting for the other to make a move first. The group of watchers around you all seem to be holding their breath in anticipation for the next move. Cigaretts are half hanging out of some people’s mouths unattended while others have stopped their movements in mid-gesture. Everyone looked to be frozen.

You’ve always heard tales about trolls with the power of mind control. Being able to sneak their way into another’s head to take over their body or to whisper words into their head, planting thoughts to seem as if they are the person’s own. You had called bullshit on that ability, figuring it was equivalent to the boogie man, the tales only being shared in order to scare their children into cooperation. So when you see the power of mind control happening in front of you you are beyond surprised.

The motions started out slowly like ice melting, each drop turning into liquid and trailing down the cube. At least that’s how it feels to you.

The blue bloods lips turned into a smile that cuts like razors, fangs popping out between her drawn back lips. Her eyes stay connected with the rust bloods like that of someone looking down on a creature who was stupid enough to get trapped in a spider’s sticky web.

Watching the rust blood you can see her eyes, which had been filled with the spark of a fight, fiery in there depths, draining of that light into a glassy-eyed expression. Her expression twisted with a warning growl falls into an emotionless mask. Without ever taking that blank gaze away from the other troll she slowly brings herself to her feet, her machete holding hand lifting, twisting the weapon around until the point is aimed directly at her abdomen.

The urge to scream, to somehow stop the inevitable, is building up in your chest but you don’t even get the chance to look the other way.

The blue blood retracts her mind control just in time for the rust blood to be aware that she is shoving the blade harshly into her stomach. She lets out an anguished scream as the blade cuts through flesh, coming out the other side of her back.

As the blood began to soak through her clothes her eyes shot open wide with the burst of pain coursing through her body. Her life drains out of her eyes before her lifeless body slumps to the ground face first, the blood continuing to seep into a growing pool underneath her crumpled form as her scream bounces back and forth off of the bare brick walls.

A short, gleeful laugh sounds from the blue blood before she falls back into the embrace of the unwavering metal cage behind her, obviously fighting with herself to stay conscious from the amount of blood she’s lost.

Around you a roar from the crowd washes away the sound of dripping blood as they cheer for the fight that just ended. Many of them are screaming cheers, all of them heated up from the gruesome battle they just watched. The yells continue as people enter the cage, dragging away the body, not caring about the streaks of blood trailing after. Two others are guiding the blue blood out, pressing cloths to her wound no doubt wanting to save as much of their fighter as possible.

Once the trolls are out of sight the sound dies down, now being taken over for the smugness of betting winners who are collecting their money and the dejected grumblings of the bets losers. But you don’t notice any of the dealings around you as you stumble your way out of the place, making it out into the cool breeze of the night air as you double over and release everything in your stomach with the thick smell of death still swirling around in your nose.

                                                *******************************************

A thudding on your door drags you out of old memories. Your stomach is a roller coaster right now, making you feel sick still even years after you had witnessed that fight. You wait for it to pass with a forearm thrown over your forehead, breathing carefully until you’re almost certain that as soon as you move you won’t end up covering your floor with this night’s steak meal.

The room feels way to hot as your feet hit the floor so on your way to the door you haphazardly ditch your shirt and pants, letting them fall wherever you take them off at. Without the layers of fabric hanging over your frame you feel better, like it’s easier to breathe and you take a minute to do just that before getting up again.

The handle feels cold in your grasp as you turn it, opening it up to reveal a disgruntled looking Karkat glaring back up at you, his two little nubs more visible with his wet hair. In his arms he’s holding a tub of ice cream that you don’t remember buying so it must be old and two spoons clutched in his hand, along with two bowls.

You can’t help but notice his eyes quickly roaming over you, only making them snap back up to your face with a blush now dusting over his scowling features. Somewhere in the back of your mind that you aren’t going to pay attention to right now is telling you that he looks cute like that, angry and flustered.

“You need something Kitkat?” you ask, leaning against the door frame with your poker face back in place.

“Yeah, you owe me a fucking movie marathon with ice cream.” His yellow eyes flick downwards to his full arms as if he’s worried you might tell him to fuck off.

You debate whether or not this would be a good idea. He could be a wonderful distraction from your current dark thoughts or having him around at this moment could just make the thoughts worse.

Looking at him though you can see he wants to be by you from his stance, leaning slightly towards you and shifting uneasily. Something has obviously upset him but you have no idea what it could have been. This is the first time he has knocked on your door to seek you out. You doubt it’s just a coincidence that Bro is here the first time Karkat does this.

You take a side step out of the doorway, allowing him to enter you bedroom.

He hesitates, his brow scrunching together before he walks into your dark room, only the light from the night sky outside that’s filtering hesitatingly through your window’s curtains illuminating the space. You toss some pj pants on and your shirt as he begins to make his way towards your bedside table to put the stuff loaded in his arms down.

 He stumbles over his own hoodie that you threw onto the floor when you got home and your arm shoots out, pale fingers wrapping around his skinny grey wrist. Your grip saves him from face-planting into the carpet by turning him around for his body to crash against your own, making both of you fall backwards. A nubby horn jabs you in your clavicle and holy fuck that hurt. His horns may be the size of a balled up hamster but that didn’t mean they couldn’t fucking hurt.

An “oof” rushes past your lips as you ungracefully fall onto your floor flat on your ass, a thud of pain shooting up from your tailbone. If you hadn’t lost your breath from the impact of the fall another oof would have sounded from you when Karkat topples on top of you, landing in between your legs, his face hitting just under your ribcage.

The dessert he had been carrying has crashed to the floor, the bowls and spoons ringing out upon impact and the ice cream falling with a thud.

You lift your head up by pushing yourself up onto your elbows in order to look down at him. Karkat sits up quickly and even in the dark you can tell his face is full of embarrassed blush and rage. His eyes are wide, so wide in fact that you think if someone were to hit him on the back of his head they just might fall out to roll around on your chest. But what has a large grin appearing on your face is that his horn has somehow gotten itself under your shirt, so when he lifts his head up your shirt is also lifted to reveal your stomach.

“Fuck!” he exclaims, quickly sitting up resulting in your shirt stretching until it couldn’t anymore and pulls him by his horn back towards you a little.

You aren’t able to stop yourself as a chuckle manages to bubble out of your throat as he cusses obscenities at your shirt, his horns, really anything he can think to violently curse at as he hurriedly tries to escape your shirts clutches. Reaching your hand up you try to help him out, lifting the shirt carefully off of his horn, laughing the entire time.

He scrambles off of you quickly, giving you room to guide yourself up into a sitting position. He picks up the bowls, spoons, and ice cream from the floor, mumbling apologies to you as he does so.

“Don’t worry about it.” You say after having gotten your poker face back into place, standing up and picking up one of the spoons that had been thrown in the fall.

Karkat sets the things down gently onto the table, scooting some things over to make more room. He has the bowls placed on the wooden table, one spoon carefully placed inside one of the bowls. He’s working on popping off the top of the ice cream canister when you come up beside him, gently setting the spoon you have in the other bowl.

You hold a hand out towards him. “I’ll split the ice cream up. You go pick a movie, alright?”

“Fine” he answers gruffly, handing you the cold container.

You can hear the TV burst to life behind you, voices filling you room with fake ass laughter. The top comes off with a pop. You set it down before picking up one of the spoons to begin dishing the ice cream out evenly.

When you turn back around with both of the bowls a little less than evenly filled up you see Karkat sitting carefully on the very edge of the bed, the mattress sinking underneath him slightly. His eyes are focused intensely on the screen bolted onto your wall as he goes through all of the romantic comedy options.

Setting the bowls down onto a pillow you crawl onto the bed, moving a pillow back against the wall to lean on. Taking the bowl with less ice cream, giving Karkat more, and your mouth is filled with the taste of vanilla as you lick the sweet off the spoon.

Only a few spoonfuls remain on your spoon when Karkat finally decides on a movie after having gone through the last at least three times. He sets the remote onto the covers before scooting back to the middle of the bed, and you pick up his bowl, handing it out to him. He takes it from you with both hands, cradling the bowl as if this is the last remaining bowl of ice cream left for all eternity.

He eats his ice cream slowly, savoring ever bite of it as if this is the first time he’s had something so deliciously sweet in years, which as far as you know may very well be the fact. When he sets the bowl down next to your empty on by the empty ice cream carton it’s almost spotless off all ice cream residue. Once he discarded the bowl he leans back against the wall with all of his intention focused deeply on the terrible movie playing out on the screen.

You aren’t really paying attention to what’s happening on screen, instead getting lost in your own thoughts, only coming back to reality when you wear Karkat mumble angrily at the characters on screen besides you. When he does this you find yourself looking over at him. Switching from looking at the screen to take note of every single cheesy factor the movie was somehow able to incorporate all into the same damn script to your gaze wondering over Karkat.

The glow from the TV plays softly against his skin, giving him a ‘romantic glow’ as Rose would say. His eyes are glowing softly, the yellow popping out brightly, giving him a slightly mystical, erie feel. His long lashes brush softly against his upper cheek only to open back up to get lost in his dark brow. His bottom lip flushes a deeper hue from where his teeth are currently working into the skin under his button nose. His legs are pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them with his chin sitting on the tops of his knees. With the way his hair his curling in every which direction, only the tips of his horns popping through the thick hair mixed with everything else about him would make a beautiful picture and you find yourself itching to find your camera.

“-People fucking like that shit.” You catch the last part of his sentence as you’re dragged away from your thoughts.

“What?” you reply.

“I don’t understand why people fucking like that shit.” He repeats, eyes still fixated on the screen.

“Like what shit?”

He looks over at you, one finger jerking toward the television. “Drugs. I’ve worked with them and I just don’t get some peoples fascination with them.”

“What? You’ve worked with drugs?” you ask, not being able to contain the surprise from your voice.

“Yeah, mas-, he used to run a drug operation. He had a whole fucking lab where a few other trolls and I had to grow weed and who the fuck knows what else. When I was younger I tried weed once, just to try and understand why the fuck people were buying it in huge ass bundles.” His voice trails off for a moment and he turns his face away from you and back to the screen. “It wasn’t worth the punishment.”

The way his voice softens, the way he seems to flinch every time he says “him” has your fists clenching besides you, anger rising up because how could anyone hurt Karkat? How could anyone damage him so badly?

 You wait a few beats, trying to calm down before talking. “Is that what happened to your leg?”

“Fuck no. My leg was just a way to stop me from running. The weed thing was a years ago, back when I was an idiotic nookwhiffing wriggler.” He talks quietly, his voice taking on that feeling of being stuck in a memory and losing a bit of reality.

“What did they do to your leg to leave that scar?”

“…an arrow.” He says as his hands unconsciously go to the collar of his shirt. Whatever it is that he is reliving in his own personal theater is greatly affecting the troll, his hand anxiously twisting his shirt with a foggy gaze.

As his hand continues to twist the material of his shirt the top of it is pulled down, revealing the dull red material of the collar underneath. You’re pretty sure you are never going to get used to seeing an object meant for household animals clasped around his neck. It still makes you stomach twist a tiny bit every time you see it against his grey skin.

You should have known better than to reach out towards him without giving the troll any sort of warning but the feeling of how _wrong_ it is on him makes you do it anyways.  He quickly flinches away from you like a startled animal, his body immediately tensing up when your fingertips brush against his skin. His hands immediately go to his own throat as if in protection.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I was just going to take the collar off.” You say softly.

“I can do it myself fuckass.” He frowns deeply, glaring at you. “I’m not an incompetent fucking woofbeast.”

You put your hands up in surrender, turning your attention back towards the TV where the main character is using the cheesiest lines you have ever heard in your life and yet he somehow manages to get the girl who is multiple levels out of his league to fall for him. The movie only gets worse which shocks the fuck right out of you because you didn’t think that was even possible. The entire time you can hear the metal of the clasp clinking together followed by annoyed growls. You wait, giving him his own space to get out of it himself, but at least five minutes have passed until you decide that he is way to fucking stubborn to ask for help so you’ll just have to do it without an invitation.

“Here, just let me help you.” You say, turning your body back towards him.

Before he can protest you gently push his hands away before your hands replace where his were. He’s tense as you lean in closer to him in order to see what you’re doing, turning the collar around on his neck carefully, but at least this time he didn’t flinch away from your presence so close to his own. Above your head you can hear him breathing softly through his nose, his hands placed on his legs.

Your pale fingers pull the small clasp up, then slide it through the whole in the fabric to release it. There’s a slight temperature difference from his skin to yours, him being warmer to the touch than you are. Once the offending collar slides off from around his neck and into the middle of your palm you look up at him while you lean back.

You are feeling extremely triumphant that he didn’t flinch away from you, that he didn’t clench his hands into tight little fists, that he felt comfortable enough around you as long as your movements weren’t unexpected and quick.

You give him a small grin that he responds to with a short growl, turning back to watch his shitty precious movie. The collar that’s damp to the touch, you’re guessing he showered with it on, is tossed carelessly onto your floor as you settle back into your more comfortable spot, leaning your back against a pillow.

You actually try to watch the movie for a little bit, but soon enough your mind is wandering away from the poorly scripted supposed to be romance before you once again. While the day continues deeper into the night you find your attention focusing more and more on the short troll beside you. His mouth moves along with the movie lines as he mouths a few of them to himself which you normally would laugh at and joke about his love for these movies; that is if you weren’t being mesmorized by said lips.

They are a slightly darker grey than the rest of his skin, just enough to identify between the two. They look soft to you, not chapped and rough. You wonder how soft they would feel against your own.  Whether he would kiss you with force, loud just like his personality, or if he would kiss you gently, like angle kisses at night. You wonder if he would use his teeth or-

Wait, what? No, no no no. There is no way in hell that you were just thinking about that. Thinking about it in detail. You cannot think about Karkat that way. There is no way in hell you are going to be one of those sick assholes who uses trolls for sex.

But was it really just about sex? You can’t deny that you genuinely like him. You like him from his scarred leg, to his loud offensive mouth, and up to his nubby candy colored horns. You love having him around you, making fun of his ridiculous shows meant to be watched by stay at home moms, having him there to listen to your sick beats. You also love how his cheeks fill with blush when he’s flustered, or when he’s just full of complete, unadulterated rage. The way his button nose scrunches when he talks about his dislikes or when he disagrees with something. How his eyebrows furrow together to form the little crease between them. Or how you felt lighter, happier just by hanging out with him, how you aren’t constantly worrying over keeping your cool kid façade in place.

No, what you feel about him isn’t about sex at all. These feelings aren’t driven by testosterone. These feelings you fell are completely real. You can’t deny the fact that you have formed a crush on Karkat over the weeks you got to know him.

The realization hits you like the flu. There had been obvious signs that it was coming but you had ignored them, just passing them off on having someone around. But now that realization has dawned on you and you can’t tuck those feelings back away because they are going to keep coming right back up. The only difference between the flu and having a crush is that a flu will go away in a week or two, but these feelings won’t be leaving for a while.

It’s not until he lets out a sigh between those lips you were just daydreaming about and scoots down on the bed that you realized you had started to lean in towards him ever so slightly. You’re grateful for the dark that hides the soft flush you can feel on your cheeks. Closing your eyes behind your shades you lean back against the wall, repeating possible rap lyrics in your head to take your thoughts away from the completely fucking kissable troll who is currently in your bed.

The next time you open your eyes again the end credits are rolling across the screen and there’s pressure on your shoulder. You must have fallen asleep since Karkat has his head resting against you without you noticing. Stifling a yawn you click the TV off before carefully scooting Karkat’s sleeping form into a better position on the bed so his neck won’t get a cramp from resting it against the wall at such an odd angle. He doesn’t sleep much but when he finally does get some shut eye he is one hell of a heavy sleeper. It makes since really, considering how little he lets himself rest he needs to sleep deeply to catch up for lost time.

After the blankets have been pulled back you slide in between the sheets beside him, then pull the covers back over both of you. The pillow takes a little bit of moving around until you have it holding your head perfectly. With your shades lying on top of the table next to your bed a little bit more light is detected by your vision.

Asleep Karkat looks so peaceful, it fucking hurts knowing that sleep is the only time he has been like that in a while. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, creating the perfect lullaby for you to drift into a dreamful sleep to.

                                                *****************************************

As the summer days continue to pass, drawing closer to an end with the school rear raisin its ugly head you proceed to best ignore the growing feelings you have for Karkat. No matter how much you try forcing those feelings down, they only grow stronger. Of course you’ve had crushes before where all you can think about is that single person who fills you’re thoughts but this is different, stronger. It feels like every second you spend in the same room with him you are fighting yourself. All you want to do when he’s near is kiss his breath away, to sweep him off his grey feet.

It is driving you out of your fucking mind.

Before you can reach the level of all insanity you have to decide one of the hardest things you will ever have to decide in your life. It’s a thing that scares the shit out of you. Something that can go either of two ways; good or bad. The decision you make will affect the rest of your life for the better or for the worst.

With a deep sigh you make up your mind and do the very thing that could be the worst and dumbest thing you have ever and will ever do.

\--turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]--

TG: rose, I need your help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for kudos, comments, and bookmarks! They all mean a lot to me.


	10. Chapter ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! so this chapter is a week later than I was hoping but that is because I got stuck on Rose's dialogue. I love Rose but I find her dialogue challenging for me. But I worked through it and here is the next chapter!   
> Also, woo, drama is about to go down so everyone better be ready! lol. I am really really really hoping that chapter eleven will be up this weekend because I am super excited to get it to you guys. Although I am not going to make any promises I will try my best.

The coffee shop you’re standing in front of is a small one situated right beside a well-known bookstore. The building itself is made out of light colored stone of all different shapes and sizes, the sign on the top of the small shop stating in scrawling letters that it’s Nancy’s Café. 

For the past ten minutes you’ve been pacing in front of the small café, continuously throwing anxious glances at the glass door, rereading the poetry slam night sign that’s been taped to its front, before deciding you need another minute only to pick up your pacing once again. You need to actually find your courage and go in their soon to talk with your friend who you had specifically asked to meet you for the exact reason why you are just seconds away from chickening out. You’re already late and you are quite aware of the fact that you are being such a complete chicken shit, the very opposite of being the cool kid you’ve trained so hard to be, but the worry squeezing your stomach about how she will react refuses to let up.

Passing the door once more you sigh in frustration with yourself for losing your cool like this when you need it most. The blue and black sign is staring back at you from where it has crookedly been placed on the glass, almost as if it is teasing you, just daring you to walk in. You’re tempted to walk in just in order to rip that sign to shreds.

Before you can second guess yourself again you are taking the sign up on its dare.

Using your arm you push the door open, causing a small bell to melodically chime above you as the door hits he silver bell twice, once while it was being opened and a second time when it is closing behind you. The first thing you spot are her set of light purple eyes focused on you from across the small café. The blonde hair surrounding her face is shorter than the last time, a dark purple headband placed carefully on the top of her head. Her lips draw back into a small smile, signaling that she has noticed you. In return you give her a slight head nod before walking over to the counter in the front of the room where a worker is using the counter as a replacement for a bed.

You give the counter top a light knuckle rap in order to get the guy’s attention so you can place your order. He snaps awake quickly, looking at you with sleep filled eyes. You can’t help but take a moment to appreciate the irony here, considering this guy works in a coffee shop full of caffeine and energy boosters yet he is passed out.

“A black coffee, please.” You order.

He gives a nod that is interrupted by a yawn as he shuffles off towards the coffee pots in the back. As he pours your coffee into one of their plastic cups with their logo printed on the outside you think about how bad this meeting can possible go. There are so many possible ways that talking with Rose can quickly become a huge mistake, but at the same time you have no idea who else to turn to for this. There’s Jade but she lives who the fuck knows where and you’d rather talk about this with someone face to face. There’s John but there is no guarantee that he will take it seriously. Karkat won’t work because you want to talk about him. So that leaves you here with Rose who is most likely going to dig through every little piece of your mind before she lets you leave. 

The worker comes back with a steaming cup, dragging you out of your thoughts. “Here you go. Three dollars please.” His voice is thick with sleep.

You hand him the three crumpled dollar bills in your pocket, grabbing the warm cup from his hand as you do. After thanking him you head over to where Rose is sitting patiently, hearing him hum in response behind you. 

“I’m happy you were able to stop your incessant pacing to join me Dave.” She says as you set your cup down onto the dark table, sitting down in the seat opposite of hers. 

“Nice to see you too, Rosey.” You smirk. “So how are you Miss Lalonde?”

“I’d say I’ve been…well.” She glances down at the green cup in between her hands, a smile on her lips and you must be going crazy because you swear you can see the faintest hint of blush on her cheeks. You get the feeling that she hasn’t told you something yet, causing a pale brow to rise above the rim of your shades. 

“Are you sure you’re only well? Cause that school girl blush you got going on your cheeks is telling a different story.” She looks back up at you instead of the caramel colored liquid in her hands, the shadow of a smile still present on her face.

 When she speaks again she has her therapist expression put back into place, her face going relaxed with interest lighting up her eyes. “What is it that you wanted to communicate with me about Dave?” 

“Nah, we can talk about you first.” You reply. You really do actually care about what has been happening in her life, but to be completely honest you offered to hear about her first was caused more from your own nerves than from wanting to hear what she did last night.

“You messaged me because you wanted to talk and you said that it is important enough that we must speak with each other in person. It is obvious that whatever it is you have to say is more important than how jaspers got wrapped up in a pile of yarn.”

You know she is looking at you as she waits for you to start the conversation but your mouth seems to be too dry to speak. You look away from her, not liking how her gaze feels like she is analyzing you, how it makes you feel like a child being scolded. Grabbing a few white packets of sugar you rip off the tops of the paper packaging, watching the white little beads fall from the packet to be swallowed up by your black coffee.

As you stir the drink in order to dissolve the sugar Rose speaks up again, her voice seeming softer. “Is it about Karkat? Has is injury gotten worse?”

Besides you and Rose, there is only the one worker and another lovey dovey couple present on the opposite side of the café, but you still keep your voice low as you answer nervously. “Yeah, it’s about him. But he’s fine now. The wound looks better, left a shit nasty scar though.”

When you don’t immediately supply anymore information she continues. “Then is he not to your satisfaction? You can always return him if he is not what you wanted. Or does he act out? You could always send him to a troll retraining center if you need to, or even to a government facility.”

“No!” you respond way too quickly and a little too loudly, officially losing your cool for a second as your head pivots back towards the calculated surprised look that is now appearing on Rose’s face. “No, that’s not the problem.” You say again, more in control of yourself this time. 

Deep down in a place that you will never tell her about it irks you that she is able to retain her collected composure before you establish your poker face again. 

You sigh, your mouth feeling as if it’s the fucking Sahara desert as you talk again. “It’s the complete opposite, really.”

“Could you elaborate on that?” she asks inquisitively, leaning a tad bit closer onto the table as she does. 

The coffee doesn’t help take away the lack of moisture in your mouth but it does give you time to form your thoughts about how you want to word what you must say next. If you don’t word it correctly this entire meeting could go downhill from here, all depending on how you are able to get your feelings across. And you are one of the worst people when it comes to explaining how you truly feel. Not only is the drink currently held tightly in your hand a great distraction from the girl who seems to be trying her damndest to peer into the deepest parts of your inner mind, but the green and blue hanging light overhead also allows you a second distraction because oh hey, will you look at that spider up there? Man, does that shit need to be cleaned. 

While you form your thoughts into sentences, Rose remains saintly patient with you. Ever since you and she were kids she was admirably patient and understanding. She is by all means the best option you had available to you for talking out your emotional dilemma. You know she will give you sound advice that isn’t at all judgmental. Although the downside is that she will pick your brain apart like a momma robin picking through the dirt in search of some worms for her newly hatched babies, she is a wonderful person to consult when in need of help. 

“I like him. I mean, I like him a lot. Remember when I dated that one chick two years ago?”

“Yes. You were very much disgustingly infatuated with her.” Rose replies in an overly sweet manner.

“Well it’s like that, but times it by a fucking set of nubby horns and a loud mouth.”

“That is quite the crush you have.” She agrees, putting a thoughtful finger to the corner of her mouth as her gaze shifts upwards towards the ceiling. “Have you discussed your feelings with him yet?”

“Hell no! That would be getting into the motherfucking fast lane of you just gone and fucked up. Rose he’s just…complicated. I can’t just sweep him off his grey feet with my white trusty stead and ride off into the setting sun. I have no idea what type of shit he’s been through in the past, I have no idea how hurt he is and he won’t tell me. Fuck, I’m not even sure if he trusts me yet not to beat the shit out of him for folding a sock wrong.” Yeah, you don’t think he is fully comfortable with you considered how he still flinches away from you at times. 

“Him becoming used to having normal human interaction without thinking of them as their ‘owner’ will take some time. I understand where you are coming from, though I am curious whether or not society’s views as a whole has also played a part in your hesitation?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow. 

“I’m asking if you have given any thought to how other people will see you if you do commit to a relationship with Karkat.”

“Well yeah…I’ve thought about it.” You glance toward the door where three new girls are walking in, causing the bell to ding above them. 

“So then you are aware that being in a relationship with a troll is deeply frowned upon by a rather large majority of society? Not only will it change how people look at you but it will change how people look at him. I recall you telling me he was a rustblood. Simply by having a blood color that’s considered the lowest according to the hemospectrum he is already, quite frankly, treated poorly by others, whether it’s by a human or a troll. With the added negative attention he will be receiving from being in a relationship with a human, one who is legally his master no less, the poor treatment he receives from others is surly going to intensify. 

“You will also be treated differently as soon as someone finds out that you have lowered your standards to dating an individual of a species that is considered lower than humans. Some may say that you are even highly into the sexuality known as beastieality. Although I am not a believer of trolls being less than humans, many are, so you will have to be prepared for facing discrimination that can affect the rest of your life. You could always try to keep your relationship a secret from the rest of the world, but that may inflict serious emotional and mental damage, especially with a troll who has had intense traumatic experiences in the past. 

“So, I guess what I’m asking, Dave, is if you and Karkat are willing to accept the daily discrimination you will face if you proceed with a romantic relationship with each other?” her pale hands are clasped together on the tabletop, the purple and black nail polish glinting from the dull light overhead as she stares at you head on as if she can see your very soul by the simple eye contact.

She had been able to attack every single fear that has been plaguing your mind about a possible intimate relationship with Karkat; and then even some more. You’re aware of the hate crimes many cross-species relationships have faced in the past, and some of them were pretty horrific, although those were about twenty five years ago before the government created the new interspecies relationship protection laws. You know that as long as you have Karkat, you could put up with anybody’s bullshit, but is it really worth it for Karkat to go through it?

“Well…yeah. Strider’s don’t really give a grandmothers ass about what people think of them. Some nasty bullshit words from the family downstairs aren’t going to change how I view him. Hell, if I was forced to wear an A or whatever from that one completely sexist book I would fucking take that shit and rhinestone the motherfuck out of it.” You take a sip from your lukewarm coffee while Rose sighs softly across from you.

“The book is called the Scarlet Letter. How you do not remember considering we spent over a quarter on that novel is beyond me. Anyways, I had a feeling you would answer like that.”

You give her a grin. “Damn Rose, you know me so well I’d think we’re related.” You tease.

Your cousin gives you a humorous smile, twirling the cup of tea in her hand as she does so. Her focus seems to be directed toward the contents of the cup, watching as the watered down brown color laps at the sides of her ceramic cup. 

As the air between you two takes on a quiet, calm feel you realize just how peculiar it is that Rose seems to have had so much information on the subject. Of course, Rose is generally good when it comes to academic knowledge and the working of human’s phycology, although what she asked you comes off as if she has put a copious amount of thought into the subject before. Could she possibly have just figured out your own emotions for Karkat before you did? It’s not like this would be the first time she has been able to understand your own feelings before you truly realize you are even having them. 

But the way she worded the questions…it was almost like she was coming from a personal point of view herself. The curiosity that is beginning to sprout through you doesn’t have much time to grow before she begins to talk once more.

“Knowing that by proceeding in a relationship with a troll may only end up inflicting more emotional damage than what they already have to their well-being in the end… are you still comfortable with continuing it?” she asks in a measured voice.  
  


You lean back in your seat, feeling the metal bars pushing into your back uncomfortably in some areas but you ignore them. The sickeningly lovey dovey couple who were in the back of the shop pay for their drinks and leave the café before you respond.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” she looks up at her, her light purple eyes shining with bright curiosity. 

“Humans get emotional baggage too. Of course they are completely different problems than what a troll faces, but they still have pasts. Just because something bad happened to them before doesn’t mean that they need to shelter themselves from everything because of the slim chance something might go wrong again. It’ll be hard, but they deserve to be happy even if they are considered slaves by society. As long as he wants it, then yes. I trust him enough to know when something is too much or when if I have crossed a line I trust him to tell me.”

“Hmm.” She says softly to herself, gently setting a polished finger on her chin while she focuses her attention upwards as if she was searching through her own thought bubble. 

A minute passes and you know that when she gets into her deep thinking it can take her a while before she comes back down to reality. You decide to take this time to glance around you at the other patrons in the building. Closer to the door is a round table filled with pre-teen girls decked out in what is most defiantly all the rage right now, not that you give a shit about what’s in with the middle schoolers. 

Besides them there is a pair of trolls in the back where the lighting is darker. They are sitting on the same side of the table and from the way that they are placed leads you to believe that under the table their grey hands are clasped together. They seem happy to you as the shorter girl whispers into the taller girls ear, having to lean upwards in order to do so, making the taller one laugh. The soft light above the table throws a blue cast over the two, their horns shining gently. 

“I believe that you should ask him out.” you hear Rose say, drawing your attention back to her. “Relationships are difficult enough without adding a troll into them, but if you are brave enough to do so then I believe that you should ask him out. If he means that much to you you need to tell him. He has a right to know how you feel.”

You can feel a smile tugging at the corners of your lips and you have to try hard not to allow your cool kid mask to slip, managing to turn the smile into a grin. “Thanks Rose.”

“No, thank you. I have currently been struggling with a similar problem myself. Before talking with you today I wasn’t going to tell her how I feel although I knew it would hurt me but now… now I know what will be the right decision for our relationship and that is to, well, actually start one.” She gives you a real smile rather than her professional therapist bullshit one. 

“Are you telling me that you have the hots for your troll too?” you question, both eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Yes, I do in fact have ‘the hots’ for Kanaya. I have been having self-doubt about the situation for a while now. We both return each other’s feelings but I wanted to make sure that us being together was really the best thing for us. Talking with you helped me decide that being able to be with her is worth all of the stupidity and ignorance from others.”

This time you don’t hide your smile from her. The way she talks about Kanaya, you can just hear the affection and adoration in her voice, something that you rarely get to hear from Rose when she’s talking about another human being, or troll for this matter. Her cats? Yeah of course, but not another person. 

“You should ask her out. Especially since you already know she likes you. You don’t even have to be stressed out over whether or not she actually likes you back.” Your mind goes back to Karkat with this and all of his mixed signals, being hot one minute and cold the next.

“I believe I will.” Her smile is hidden behind her cup as she takes a sip from it, looking down at the table top to most likely try to conceal her elated expression. The mug thuds gently on the wooden table as she sets it down. “Perhaps it is time for us to take our leave? We do, after all, have two lovely trolls waiting for us.”

                                                *******************************************

The engine rumbles to life after you turn the key in the ignition, creating a satisfactory purr as you back out of your parking spot. The sky has long since darkened into night, lit above you by millions of tiny, flickering lights above. After you left the coffee shop you ended up dropping by the store to pick up a few things, along with some romcom’s for Karkat and CD’s for yourself. You figure the movies will be a good set up to ask him out. The atmosphere could be perfect, snuggling up close on the couch with a blanket draped over you both and you “ironically” setting your arm around his shoulders. At the climax of the movie, when the couple finally gets together, you will lean down and take his grey lips against your own.

Though it’s not like you’ve thought about it before. You definitely hadn’t been planning it out the entire store trip.

As you turn a street corner and turn into your apartment’s parking lot you feel your stomach flipping inside you with a mixture of emotions. You can’t wait to go see his scowling face, to fell those grey hands in your own. Your movements are quick as you practically slap the radio off, pull the key out of the car’s ignition to shove it into your pocket, and gather up the six bags in the seat beside you. They are on the heavier side, weighing down your arms since you had picked up some food too, but like hell are you going to be a wuss and only take a couple that would result in you having to do two trips. Not only had Bro deemed this a part of your training since you were in, like, fifth grade, to go up the stairs with as many bags you could possibly carry, but you also don’t think you could wait any longer to see Karkat.

With keys jingling softly in your front pocket, both arms full of plastic bags that are sure to leave red marks in your skin, and an excitement that you dare not show you start your treacherous journey up the stairs. The trip up the multiple flights of stairs seems to be taking even longer than usual, most likely due to the increasing anticipation of being by Karkat again. 

When you finally make it to your floor’s landing your teeth are gritted tight because of the constant strain on your arm muscles that began to burn about ten floors down. Without having allowed yourself a second to rest you continue the few steps until you’re standing in front of your door. A grateful sigh is released from your lips as you set the bags down on the ground in order to push your hand into your pocket to grab out the keys once again. 

You’re caught by surprise when the doorknob turns in your hand before you even have the chance to unlock it. For a moment you frown down at the door, studying the slight gleam coming off the silver surface from the overhead light before giving a small shrug. You probably just forgot to lock it on your way out, you rationalize.

Picking up the bags again you walk pass the doorway and into your home’s threshold, softly closing it behind you. The keys are carelessly tossed onto the coffee table, the bags thrown over the couch and bouncing slightly when they hit the plush cushions. 

“Karbaby, I’m home.” You call out teasingly, waiting to hear the curses and insults that’s sure to draw out of him. 

You don’t realize it until after you call out for him that there is a note placed perfectly in the middle of the table in front of the couch. Leaning down you grasp the paper in between your fingers, a curious brow lifting as your eyes scroll over the message which seems to have been painstakingly written, as if he had wrote it only to erase and rewrite it until eventually giving up. Or at least that’s what you pick up from all of the eraser smudges on the white sheet. 

“ROOF.”

Oh. So that’s why the door was unlocked.

Well alright then. Guess you’re going up to the roof.

The piece of paper is set back down onto the table; it’s more important to you that you go see what he’s doing than it is to throw out the thing first.

The staircase leading up to the roof feels so much fucking longer than the ones to get to your apartment did. Not to mention the fact that this hallway is lit like a room in a fucking b-rated horror movie. You previously thought that you could never hate anything more than these stairs when you went up them during the day to strife with bro. Well, you are being proved fucking wrong. You hate them even more during the night when there isn’t an ounce of light streaming in through the very few and far in between windows. You’re half-expecting to feel a hand wrap around your ankle with cold, death ridden fingers only to drag you down the stairs to your own demise. 

When the door finally comes into your view it’s cracked open slightly. Quietly you push it open farther to step out of the creepy ass stairway and out into the cool night air. The first thing you do is suck in a deep, clean breath of fresh air, thankful to be out of the close spaced hallway. 

You sweep your eyes over the roof, looking for Karkat. If it wasn’t for his small, bright horns resting just a few inches above the ground you would have missed him completely since he blended in perfectly with the nighttime setting. 

As you walk over to him, your feet thudding softly against the ground below you, you don’t say anything and he gives you no indication that he’s even aware of your presence. Neither of you say anything as you lay down beside him, looking at him. His eyes are wide, focused upwards on the sky, and glowing softly with the reflection of twinkling stars shining off of them. He is lying flat on his back, arms next to his sides, and a blank expression on his face. His gaze continues to stare into the vast sky above him that’s filled with millions of tiny stars. All you can think is holy fuck, he looks beautiful here. 

You lay on your back, looking upwards with shaded eyes at the sky. There are thousands of beautiful lights dancing, the moon glowing bright and big. You even notice a shooting star pass through the dark night. You are about to point it out to the quiet troll beside you ad tell him to make a wish when he says something.

“It’s the first week of August.” He talks softly, as if these words are only meant for his ears to hear.

“…Yeah.” you respond timidly, not sure if you were even supposed to hear him.

“The first week of August. It’s the first fucking week of August and it’s not fucking there Dave. It’s supposed to be there.” He trails off, his gaze still fiercely focused above.

“Whats supposed to be there?”

“Alternia. It’s supposed to be right the fuck there.” He says, extending an arm and pointing towards a specific area. “When I was a wriggler the jadebloods would tell me fantastic stories. Tales about our world, a planet with only trolls. Back there quadrants weren’t prohibited, there were tons of books and shows that focused on troll culture. Alternian wasn’t a banned language. Blood still counted,” he says bitterly,  ”but no one was forced into slavery. We could talk to who we wanted to, be what we wanted, most importantly be with who we wanted...”

“Of course it wasn’t fucking perfect, actually it was more fucked up and cruel than earth is. But trolls were free. We could fight for our lives. Hell! We were fucking able to pick motherfucking fights with other trolls because we wanted to! We wouldn’t have had to be trained to be fucking domesticated animals for humans to toy with! A rustblood would have more fucking rights there than they do now!”

“I saw it once, the very first year I left the mothergrub. It was magnificent. It shone brighter than anything up there that night, it had the most alluring colors, almost as if it was calling out to me.” He pauses to sigh. “It’s supposed to be here. But it’s just…gone.”

You realize that he wassn’t wearing a blank expression before, that was the face of lost hope, of depression. His entire life he has been longing for a life where trolls weren’t enslaved, and all his life that distant, far off planet had been his source of hope. It had kept him moving, just knowing somewhere, at some time, trolls had lived a better existence. 

It is so heart wrenchingly sad to see that crest fallen face of his that it aches painfully in your chest. All you want to do it take all of his pain and suffering away. 

“Karkat,” you say softly, tilting yourself up on one elbow while brushing a hand through his incredibly soft hair with the other arm. 

He turns his head to look in your direction and the next thing you know is that you’re leaning towards him, with eyes closed and lips pressing softly against his and your own heart thudding loudly in your ears with only the taste of his perfect lips tying you down to the world. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the wonderful comments and kudos! :D


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Guess who is doing another update so soon? it this girl! :D  
> So this chapter isn't as long as the others but its setting up the next one. Also, it's not the best chapter I've ever written considering im still getting over the never ending cold and have suddenly became a very busy person over the weekend.   
> Now with all of that said you may read UuU

One second your gaze is full of the stars overhead that seem to twinkle dully above you, everything in the sky just seems so dull to you now, and the next second you have a face full of Dave as he molds his lips against yours. 

Ever since you were a young grub you had dreamed about your first kiss, about how it would be with the person you planned to spend the rest of your matespriteship with. When you thought about it you always envisioned it as being a life-altering moment, one that would be filled with fireworks, one that makes your body come alive with electricity and make your heart stop as your breath catches in your throat. 

For once in your life you aren’t disappointed.

His lips are soft, so soft, and warm, and…gentle. So incredibly gentle that it causes your heart to ache. Your eyes softly shut as he moves his lips against your own, and you lose all thought as you recuperate the movement clumsily, self-conscious that you aren’t doing it right. 

You have been trying so hard to push away the unwanted feelings you are getting for him, but it’s hard to tell yourself you don’t have feelings for him while he is currently attached hotly to your lips. 

Everything is so blissfully sweet as your head becomes dizzy with his smell and lack of air but you still don’t want this moment in your life to end, you wish that it could be everlasting. You know that as soon as he isn’t nose to nose with you you’re going to be thrown right back into vicious reality, one where Alternia doesn’t exist and you’re nothing better than the dirt under a shit covered horses hoof. You really don’t want to go from feeling special, from feeling cared about, back to that existence.

His lips leave yours, making them feel cold and empty without Dave’s pressed against them. With your lips parted slightly you try to catch your breath, your warm breath mingling with Dave’s who has his forehead pressed against yours, his face taking a light red hue. 

He is smiling down at you, your own heavy-lidded eyes and slightly kissed swollen lips reflecting back to you from his shades. “Would you go out with me Karkat?” he whispers so softly you’re sure if you weren’t mere inches aware from his mouth that his words would have been caught on the wind to be thrown around the world.

But that’s all it takes to ruin the thin veil that surrounds you and this moment from the rest of the world. All it took to shatter the perfect illusion you were able to maintain through the kiss. 

Everything is way to close now. You need to get the fuck off this roof and away from him as fast as possible as your heart clenches inside your chest. He’s way too close to you and suddenly the vast sky above seems to be too vast, like its crushing down on top of you to the point where you can’t breathe or think or move. You need to get the fuck out of here.

A part of you knows that you are having a panic attack from all of the emotional conflicts that are warring inside of you. The other part, the one that is taking over all of your sensibilities, would throw yourself off the fucking roof if it meant getting away from the situation that has unfolded before you.

You push Dave away roughly with an arm, knocking him flat on his back with an oof as you scramble up desperately to get to your feet. As you run back down the stairs you don’t think while the building surrounding your blurs together to form a blob of grey. You don’t think about how your leg is killing you with sharp throbbing pains from moving this fast, which is good because you think that it had finally gotten better but apparently you still can’t overexert yourself. You don’t think about how torn up you are on the inside as you pass the floor with the apartment you had occupied for the past few months. And you most definitely do not think about Dave, who you left in a mad-dash to the door from.

You don’t stop running until you are outside of the building complex’s front doors; and that’s only because you feel a hand clasp onto your shoulder with enough force to make you stop moving. You don’t turn around to see who it is, instead Dave has to walk around your huffing form in order to see your face, his own being scrunch up in concern. 

“Karkat, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, one of his hands reaching under your chin in order to lift your gaze up to his but you immediately push it away.

“What’s wrong? _What’s wrong?_ ” you are practically snarling at him as your confusion, pain, lost hope, as  is all being replaced with the emotion you know how to handle; anger. “You! You’re what’s wrong!! You have no fucking right to do that to me! You had no fucking right to make me feel that way! To make me feel for once in my life like everything was going to be fucking perfect! You just had to go and be a nookwhistling asshole and make me have feelings for you! Gog damn it Dave. And then…then to go and kiss me?!? Do you have any idea how huge of a grubfucker you are for doing that? Even worse you had to ask, not even if it was okay to pail or anything like that. You asked for a simple kiss! Oh no! You couldn’t have been the complete dick that I need you to be! You just had to ask if I wanted to date you! Ha! Date you? Sure, I’d fucking love to! Only if I wasn’t your fucking slave.”

There are tears in your eyes at this point, making your vision blurry, but you don’t pay them any attention as you continue, moving closer to Dave and glaring up at him, going as far as jabbing a grey finger in his direction. 

“And do you know what the worst part of it is? It’s not the fact that I have to do everything you tell me, it’s not the fact that if you actually wanted to fuck me I would have no choice in it. The worst thing is that you are pretending to fucking care for me! What kind of sick perverted assmunch does that? You don’t have to pretend like you feel anything towards me besides mild interest.”

“Karkat-“he tries to speak up, but you yell over him.

“No! Fuck you! Stop messing with my fucking feelings and leave me the everloving fuck alone! I don’t want this. I never fucking asked for this! Before you came and made me feel I was perfectly content with being what I am! But then you come along and you make me think I have an actual chance of being anything but someone’s bitch!”  

You’re breathing heavy by the time you finish yelling at him. You are so fired up, so incredibly angry, that you pay no mind to the few people out at this time of the night who have stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfold before them. You are so royally pissed off at the world, at Dave, but mostly at yourself. To make matters even worse you can still feel a wet stream of tears leaking over the brim of your eyes to leave a damn line down your cheeks, both lines of moisture collecting together at the tip of your chin. 

You hate yourself for crying, and the anger that is bubbling up inside of you is only making you cry more from frustration. You hate yourself for obtaining any type of romantic feelings towards the stoic Strider. You hate yourself for having an emotional breakdown this extreme and in public no less. You hate yourself for being born a troll, let alone for being a mutant one. But most importantly, you hate yourself for hurting the one person who has possibly ever legitimately cared for you.

You can’t even force yourself to look at Dave, instead simply walking around his figure with your eyes trained solely on the ground in order to walk away. You ignore the few people who have curiously been watching the emotional crises that you just had, you ignore the sounds of beeping car horns from angry drivers as you cut through the middle of the street, and you grit your teeth tightly as you ignore the sound of Dave calling after you.

                                                *************************************

You’ve been walking through the back streets of the city for almost an hour now, sticking to staying hidden safely in the shadows. A half hour ago all the fight and anger had drained away from you, leaving you exhausted, confused, and upset. All you really want to do is to go back to the apartment you have gotten used to over the few months and snuggle into the couch cushions to fall asleep soundly with the background noise of a romcom playing from the TV substituting as your lullaby. 

But you doubt you will ever be able to do that again considering how badly you just fucked everything up. 

You truly wish that what you said could be true. That you thought Dave was only pretending to have any sort of feelings towards you besides detest, but you know that’s not true just as well as you know that it’s nighttime right now. The fact that Dave does have feelings for you, for _you_ of all people and trolls alike, makes you feel so incredibly great inside. Like you matter, like things might possibly be looking up for you. But you made a self-pact, one that clearly states that you are to never have any sort of inter-species relationship, especially if the other person is your owner. Hell, you didn’t even think you would ever get the chance to fill a quadrant, most definitely not having a human in one of them. 

You just can’t afford the sort of pain this will cause, which it will only be causing pain by the end. Trolls and humans do not belong together. The end. There are no exceptions. Most human’s believe that they have the free will to be with who/what they want but in all honestly the government has more control in this than society would like to admit, at least they do when it comes to humans and trolls.

If an inter-species relationship reaches the media that couple will still be affected by the majority of civilization who will just be down-right assholes to them, but the very few human troll relationships that make it on the news are the ones that most people believe how they work. They don’t realize that if any government official finds out about the romantic relationship before other people have knowledge about it than that troll is either sent to a government facility or killed while the human is forced to keep their mouths shut about the governments interactions. 

And that is only the tippy top of the ice berg on why you can’t date Dave.

Another major factor is that he deserves better. He should be with someone who can go places with him as an equal, someone who he will have a better life with, someone who won’t affect the job he gets or the places he lives.

Another reason is that you just can’t allow yourself to feel. You have just gotten used to being numb to everything but Dave warms your heart up. You have tried so hard to push aside any type of feeling you had inside, meaning that you were safe from the worst kind of pain which is the emotional sort. As a troll you are used to rough treatment and have learned over the years how to deal with physical pain. You never were able to get a hold on emotional pain though so you had decided the best way to deal with it is to simply turn it off. It was easy, at least that was up until Dave god damn Strider with his barely visible freckles and caring gestures had to come in and fuck up everything you have worked so desperately hard to achieve. 

God you fucking hate him. You hate him for making you like him.

You’ve been moving through the city streets for a while enough and now you’re not only physically drained, but emotionally as well so when you spot the bunch sitting on the side of a seemingly deserted building, and you don’t hesitate to lay down on the cold, harsh wood. 

It’s not until you pull your knees up to your chest and use an arm for a pillow that you realize just how much you miss the couch. Hell, you’d rather sleep on the carpeted floor of the apartment then sleep out here in the open. With a heavy sigh you decide it’ll just have to do for tonight at least. You aren’t positive how long you’re going to be wandering aimlessly through the streets, sticking to the thick nighttime shadows where a patrol guard can’t see you. You wish you could go back to the apartment, but your pride is still unwilling to allow you to do so yet, not to mention the fact that after that blow up Dave probably doesn’t even want you there right now.

With your head still spinning around as you try to sort your emotions out you neglect to pay attention to your surroundings, so when two figures slowly approach you you’re not aware of them. You’re not aware of them until they’re standing directly behind you. 

Your whole body immediately stiffens when you can feel the presence of people behind you. Even darker shadows are casted onto the wall which you are currently looking at from their thick bodied figures. You don’t even dare to breathe, hoping that they will just assume you are a dead troll who was tossed on the bench and leave you alone for someone else to deal with.

What has most likely only been about a moment feels like eternity to you. They haven’t moved, just continued to stand behind you so closely that you can hear their breathing, hear the slight ruffle of clothes from the breeze that’s shwooshing between these city buildings and streets. 

Squinting your eyes together tightly you wish for them to leave you alone right the absolute fuck now. Your hands are balled up into tight fists, the arm that you have your head resting on is shaking slightly as fear grips you in its cold hands. 

It’s not until a hand is reaching down towards you that you finally react. 

You bolt off the bench, automatically going into defensive position with a growl warningly rumbling throughout your chest and a glare that could kill. There’s two of them, both being tall with a hat upon their heads. The one closest to you is rather slim, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any muscle mass, and he has a face that can only be described as death itself. The other one is visibly terrifying, with gnarled facial features and a thick build.  

The slimmer one advances towards you first, both hands outreached which you snap your teeth at. You want to yell at him, to yell _for_ someone, but you’re words have seemed to slip your entire fucking existence as your body goes into protection mode, to busy growling at them to allow you to properly speak. 

A beefy hand lunges out for you, which you quickly swipe at. You can feel your claws cut through skin, dragging along with them the liquid red blood humans are known to contain. He pulls back quickly, swearing as the blood wells up from the mark and drips over. Thank god you haven’t been keeping up with the regulated claw length since you moved in with Dave. 

The slimmer male is now advancing towards you again, rage shining hotly through his eyes. You take a step back, ears flattening in warning. He ignores everything around him, his intent focused mainly on you. The other male has now recovered from the scratch and is only a step behind his companion as they take steps towards you, the larger making sure to crack his knuckles intimidatingly.

You’re pretty sure your death is about to be caused because of these two goons, or at least that is until you take another step backwards to feel a cold, hard object press into the back of your head.

“What the hell do you think you two are doing?” A voice asks from behind you which simultaneously makes your advancing aggressors stop in their tracks. 

You remain statue still with the gun still pressed with just enough pressure to make you aware it’s there while the two across from you have shame filling their features.  

“This little shit disrespected us.” The gaunt one replies hastily. “Look what he did to Big Gus over here.” At this Big Gus lifts up his arm, showing the deep wound that’s still bleeding slightly. You growl at him to communicate that you’d happily do it again and are punished with the gun tip hitting you hard in the head before going back to its original position. 

“I don’t give a shit if this runt who is less than half your size was able to outfight you guys. Boss said he wants him unharmed and I sure as hell ain’t gonna be taking the bullet for you two numbfucks. Besides he’ll be good enough as dead after tomorrow night. Slim, bag em so we can go home.”

As Slim moves towards you again, pulling a pillowcase out of his coat pocket as he does so, you swing around and hit the person behind you as hard as you possibly can before making a run for it. There is no way in hell you are going to be going down easily, especially not when you know they are going to kill you. You may be one of the most pathetic excuses for a troll in all of existence but that doesn’t mean you want to die just yet.

You can hear them yelling behind you although you don’t pay attention to what they are saying. You can’t give less of a fuck right now as you wind your way around the corner of a building. The alley behind it is small in size and dark enough that you highly doubt a human would be able to navigate their way through this tight squeeze.  Even with your night vision that all trolls have you still almost trample right over the street cat with half a tail who is curled up tightly next to a garbage can. Eye sight must be another thing that has adapted over the years in your species, considering how on Alternia trolls were only awake during the dark hours and in their coons before dawn came. 

Behind you you become aware of the sound of them trying to manage their way through the tight alley. You don’t even allow yourself the time to look back at them as your heart continues to thud loudly in your chest as the sound of your feet slapping pavement echoes against the bricks surrounding you. 

At first you had thought they were control guards but now you’re not so sure. Never have you heard about the guards wanting to take any troll in alive if it isn’t cooperating. To your knowledge if the troll attacks a human their main concern would then be to kill said troll. 

After running your way through tight spaces and crawling under a few beaten up fences you believe you’ve lost them. There’s no doubt in your mind that you had just outrun all three of them. In all honesty you probably went farther than you had to. Bending over and putting your hands on your knees you try to catch your breath. A minimum of five minutes pass while you wait for your quick beating heart to slow down and the ringing in your ears to stop. 

You really should start regularly exercising considering how frequently speed running seems to be becoming for you.

With one last shuddery breath you go to straighten back up when a metallic single click has your ears perking up, your breath catching quickly.

“Stand up. Slowly.” The commanding voice rings a chime of familiarity in you, but you can’t place where it belongs too. 

A deafening shot sounds when you don’t immediately comply. The bullet strikes the concrete by your feet, making you jump as the vibrations from the ground shake through your feet and legs, ringing loudly in your ears. He is obviously not playing around. That bullet was probably only a foot away from your toes.

Quickly you stand up straight, looking into deep green eyes followed by black hair. Caliborn is glaring at you in that same bored with life expression. “Can’t expect you dipshits to do anything. Should have just done this myself. Would have been quicker if you buffoons weren’t fumbling around.” He’s talking to the same three people who were chasing you earlier, but now instead of being behind you they are in front of you, placed on each side of Caliborn.

“Sorry sir, he’s very tricky.” One of them says but you don’t know which because your glare is intently focused on Caliborn.

“Shut up.” He snaps at them before his focus is replaced on you. “Now. Karkat. Are you going to behave. And obediently obey me?”

God you wish you could claw his fucking eyes out right now. “You’re not my master assfuck.” You snarl challengingly at him. Like hell are you about to obey some other dickwagon.

“Oh? Are you sure about that?” he grins maliciously at you. “You see. Karkat. After your little episode tonight. Dave called me. He said that he no longer wanted you. Therefore he relinquished all rights over to me.”

Wait, what?

Dave wouldn’t do that to you…would he? No! Of course not! He told you he wasn’t going to hurt you! He wouldn’t just give you up like that… 

“You’re fucking lying! Dave wouldn’t do that!” you yell at him loudly, baring your fangs as you do so.

“Tut tut tut. So stupid. Idiot. Are you so sure that he wouldn’t? Why would Dave want a pathetic, misbehaved troll such as yourself? After all. You’re just a troll. What makes you special? If he wanted a volatile animal with anger problems he would have a pitbull. Why would he keep you?”

Every word is like a knife through the heart. Everything he’s saying are things you’ve been chewing your lip for over the past month or so. It’s all true but that doesn’t stop it from hurting like hell. You don’t know what hurts worse right now, the fact that Dave gave you up so easily or the fact that you stopped doubting what Caliborn is saying so easily, accepting Dave doesn’t want you anymore without a blink of your eyes.

You aren’t even allowed time to think this over before a club is raised above your head from behind you, thunking against you skull loudly before everything goes black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so sososososo much to everyone who is supporting me with this story by leaving kudos and comments. Every single one means a lot to me.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again my lovely readers!   
> Considering I wrote this in about three days I am pretty proud of myself. I had hoped to have this out last weekend but school decided to vomit its projects and tests all over me that week, meaning I had absolutely no time to work on this. Since I wrote this in three days rather than my usual span of about a week there will most likely be mistakes so please just give me a heads up if you see any. :)  
> I have also thought and rethought how I was going to set this chapter up but in the end I decided that for this story this is the best way for it to go in order for the character and relationship developments that I need to happen.  
> With all that said, happy reading!

Blurry visions of a car’s interior. That’s all you see when you manage to come to from your blackouts before the intense headache becomes too much and you close your eyes once again to rid the sensations. Every time you manage to come to for about five seconds all you see is a dark ceiling…or at least you think it’s a ceiling. You try to turn your head in order to take in more of your surroundings but the throbbing pain that bursts through your skull makes that impossible. The only reason you know that there are other people by you is because you can hear their voices. You can’t tell where they are coming from considering not only your vision is fuzzy, but the sounds all around you seem to be muffled, as if you are underwater, listening to them above you. 

You see the darkness behind your eyelids. Then the blurry fuzziness of that odd looking ceiling. The dull murmurs of voices beside you begin to slowly recede as your eyes drift back closed. Repeat.

                                ***************************************

You have no fucking idea where you are. 

It’s quiet here. So quiet in fact that you can perfectly hear your heartbeat. At first you don’t realize that the soft thumping noise is coming from within your body, believing at first it must be some type of loud base music, the kind that Dave creates. 

Dave.

You have to see him. You have to talk to him, to try and explain, to apologize.

Maybe he’s outside this room playing the music? Could this possibly be a part of the apartment? You have not, after all, opened your eyes just yet. 

Even better perhaps everything had just been some fucked up dream on your part. Maybe he never kissed you, which seems a lot more plausible to you considering who you are, and maybe you never yelled at him and ran away from him like a bat out of hell.

You really hope it was only a dream.

Opening your eyes all you see is a white ceiling above you. It looks different than the apartment’s ceiling considering there is water damage in every corner and its miscolored, some parts being a dull white, almost grey, where other sections are as white as tissue paper.

But let’s be honest, you don’t spend a great deal of time staring up at the ceilings, so there is still the possibility that this is indeed the living room.

Trying to turn your head from side to side pain shoots through you. You entire body seems sore, especially your leg where the arrow had been shot through along with your head. You have such a fucking major headache it feels as if someone has taken an axe ad sliced the top of your head in two. Or perhaps that’s exactly what you need to happen to get rid of all the pressure. 

Bringing your grey hand up to the top of your head you press it lightly against the…holy fuck there is a huge as bump forming on your skull. Fear begins to creep up on you as you oh so carefully feel your left horn, sighing in relief when it feels perfectly fine, before moving to the other one and oh shit. 

Slowly you press the pads of your fingers into the small crevice that has been made on the outside part of your nubby horn. 

It hurts. It is a type of physical pain that is so incredibly strong that it immediately goes straight to your stomach, making your stomach twist and lurch as it searches for enough contents to make you puke. Not only is it a physical pain, but it’s emotional too. Your horns had been short enough and now that would look even more fucked up and ridiculous with a god damn cleft in one. 

And that’s when you remember.

This isn’t a dream. Dave had really pressed his blissfully gentle lips onto your own chapped black ones. Then you had royally freaked the fuck out which caused you to run. Running had got you into trouble with some thugs. Then Caliborn appeared. He had said that Dave had given you over to him. The next thing you knew everything had turned black. You don’t know how you received the horn damage so one of those assholes must have dropped you at some point.

A wave of panic surges its way through your mutant blood carrying veins, making you bolt straight up into a sitting position that sends you reeling with pain from your head. 

The room you’re in is small with white walls, a white ceiling, and cement floors under you that contain no sense of heat. You’re alone in the room, which you are grateful for.  Ignoring the loud protests from your body you stand up on shaky legs. As you walk over to the steel door you can’t help but to limp, your damaged leg giving out from your weight before you have the chance to support yourself with the opposite leg.

After cussing everything and anything out in your head for a few minutes you finally manage to make it to the giant steel door. On all four sides there are large, metal bolts running up and down its frame, making it seem more like something that belongs in prison to contain dangerous criminals. It seemed to stare down at you, just daring you to try and get out.

Reaching a hand out you grab the small round handle, turning it slowly. Inside you aren’t sure whether or not you want the door to be locked or unlocked. A part of you really wants it to have been unlocked, allowing you to escape and laugh at the dumbasses how are too lead minded to lock a fucking door. The other half of you needs it to be locked, keeping you safely inside and away from the dangers of the outside world. In here all that can hurt you is yourself, you don’t have to worry about other people or trolls or anything. In here you feel somewhat safe, protected from the rest of the world. Or you would at least if you didn’t know that eventually someone is going to come for you for whatever reason they brought you here for. 

Your ears flick every time the doorknob makes a soft clicking noise as the mechanics inside grate against each other. It’s almost turned 180 degrees, until it stops with the finality of one loud click and refuses t be turned any further. 

Releasing the knob it snaps back to its original position without hesitation. Moving away from the door you end up sitting down across from it, resting your elbows on your knees and melting your head downwards to allow your fingers to glide in between your mess of tangled hair so you can softly rub at your scalp and await the arrival of your captor. 

                                *****************************************************

Time pays by so tantalizingly slowly as you spend it sitting against the plain white wall of that room. In fact you don’t even know how much time has passed by since you’ve been sitting hunched up here, the only companion available being the opposing wall across from you which stares back at you blankly. There are no windows, no clocks, hell you can’t even hear anything from outside of this room. For all you know an eternity might have passed you by and you would have no fucking idea.

A thought scarier than having a lifetime pass without you knowing it is the thought that you may very well be alone here. Considering you aren’t able to hear anything outside you doubt anyone else can hear you. You don’t even know if there are any other living creatures outside of your small confines. There’s a possibility that you are in a tight box that has been thrown overboard into the middle of the ocean only to be retrieved once you’re nothing more than a pile of rotting flesh and bones. 

This quiet, the not knowing, it’s beginning to drive you absolutely crazy, so when you hear the clicking sound of a lock being undone come from the door you are so incredibly grateful to whoever it is. For all you care it could be the fucking devil himself coming to kill you and you would happily accept that rather than staying here.

But the devil is not who walks through that door. 

“Up.” Says Caliborn, a malicious smirk stretching across his features.

You don’t move. You continue to sit there, glaring up at him in your confusion and anger. 

One of his arms protrudes from the inside of his green jacket that stops around his thighs in a v-shape cut off. In his hand he is holding a cane that has a globe has a head and a ring of colors circling all the way down it’s to its base. 

As he lifts his arm up and outstretches it towards you the multicolored cuff on his sleeve lifts up, showing the button down black shirt beneath. The bottom of the gaudy cane is tapped against your head, right in between your two horns, exactly where you had taken your black out causing hit earlier. It isn’t hard enough to bring back the major headache you had before, but it still sends a growl rumbling through your throat.

“Stand.” He repeats in a voice that is seeping with over-confident superiority. 

In any other situation you would have put up one hell of a fight, but considering you are still achy from the scuffle earlier and weaponless on top of being in this small as hell room you go against your normal reaction, standing up slowly and ignoring the ache in your leg.

“Good boy. Now follow.” He snaps, turning around and walking back out the door he had walked in through.

Immediately you are irritated and pissed off with his manner. It isn’t as easy to take shit from humans after having lived with a decent one. 

You want to refuse his orders so badly that it is almost a physical pain when you stick your pride straight up your ass and follow him like a lost puppy. 

The hallway you walked out into is completely different from the room you had just been holed up in for god knows how long. The lighting isn’t as god awfully bright out here, allowing you to see everything around you with ease rather than having to squint. The walls around you are painted with multiple colors; reds, blacks, yellows, greens, purples, blues, pinks, browns. So many different colors and shades that you aren’t even sure if you are able to name half of them. From the looks of it the walls had just been splattered with the stuff. There was no existing rhyme or reason you can detect with the wall paintings.

The black boots on Caliborn’s feet echo throughout the desolated hallway loudly, making each step feel like a finality counting down the time till your death. 

After walking through hallway through hallway in a twisting of mazes all with the same exact chaos slapped onto the walls you finally are able to stop. Caliborn is standing in front of a chest that’s padlocked closed. It’s a simple wooden box, but the designs upon its surface are absolutely haunting with the swirls and dip that come up to make shapes resembling that of faces. 

Protruding a silver chain from around his neck he reveals a matching silver key that matches the designs on the box. Without a word uttered in your direction he glides the key into the padlock and a few clicks and turns later the lock springs open. Easily he took it out of the chests loop. With the key put back into safety under his shirt he pushes the top of the chest open, revealing weapons of all sizes, makes, and types.

His green eyes flick down to yours but there is something uncomfortably unsettling with the predatory gaze he now has directed toward you. This is not the Caliborn you had met at the diner that one terrible evening; this was a completely different guy than him. This one has a type of twisted amusement in his eyes, a walk that proclaimed he owned everything in this place or even the world in its entirety.

His unwavering gaze roams over your body, your stature, before they return back to the chest in front of him. He bends down slightly, reaching a hand into its confine to move objects around. The clinking and clanging of metal against metal rings out from the chest as he moves weapons aside, in search for a specific one.  

When he straightens himself back out into his feet with straight legs he tosses you a bundle wrapped up in black cloth. Through your clumsy gestures you manage to catch the flying object before it collided with your face. Once in your hands it the object wrapped carefully in the cloth feels light but solid. Positioning it in the palm of your hand you use the opposite hand to peel back the cover.

With the black cloth pooling over the sides of your hand you see what the objects are. There are two sickles gleaming up at you. The perfect curve of the blades that come to sharp points are exquisite in its craftsmanship. Due to how unscathed the weapons are they must never have been used, set into that cramped box to wait patiently for the right pair of hands to grasp onto the black handles with in ornate design carved into them. Taking one of the smooth handles into your hand you hold the sickle up, admiring it as you turn it this way and that. 

Your admiration of the sickles is interrupted when Caliborn’s hand reaches out towards you, grabbing the cloth from your hand and making you flinch from him. 

”Yes. These will do.” He says, shoving the newly folded fabric into the pocket of his black pants. 

“Do for what?” you snap, looking at him in a mixture of uncertainty and anger.

Before answering he has his cane lifted once again, whacking the back of both of your hands with enough force to make you drop both the sickles before you have time to react, which he then uses a foot to move them closer to his feet before picking them up off the ground. 

“For the fight of course.” He says in a bored tone, not looking at you as he tucks his cane back into his cape. 

Your breath catches in your throat as your blood runs freezing inside your veins. 

“The fight?” you question, unbelieving.

“Yes the fight.” He snaps. “Why else would I give you weapons? It is so dull when trolls don’t have weapons for a fight. Of course giving you weapons is kind of a waste, yes? You are going to be dying first most likely. Weakest link. That’s you. Haha. Maybe even Dave will show up. That would be interesting. Then he will understand. Bet against you to win money…”

In the back of your mind you are aware that he is still talking, but right now you don’t have any attention placed on him as you focus yourself into your own thoughts. You can’t fight other trolls. It has been so incredibly long since you even had some sort of weapon training, and right now you aren’t at your strongest with your head still throbbing dully every now and then. Going into a fight right now you will without a doubt be a dead troll with in the first round. But that train of thought does not bother you as much as the idea of Dave being out there, of Dave having to watch you die.

“No.”

“What?” Caliborn shuts up with your interruption, turning his gaze to you.

“No.” you repeat, louder and stronger than last time.

It’s a slow change to watch while he takes in your words, going from amusement with his own thoughts to a churning anger.

“You are not in a position to say no to me.” If he was a troll, he would no doubt be snarling at you.

You’re growling at him as both of you are stuck in a stare down with him. You are ready to scream with al you might, to yell and fight and bite until he backs the fuck off, until everyone backs the fuck off. He is not your damn master and you are so completely tired of being bossed around like a woofbeast. Before you get a chance to attack him with every single thing you have there is somebody walking up from behind you.

“Sir, the door’s open in five minutes.”

Its with this new distraction that has you making a mistake, turning your head back to look at the unrecognizable man behind you. Caliborn takes this as an opportunity to slap your stomach with his cane hard enough that you double over a little, hands latching around your midsection where a bruise is sure to be forming. 

You’re aware of a fabric rustling, before you get the chance to process what is happening there’s a scratchy fabric shoved in between your lips that pulls your cheeks back. You try to snarl but find it almost impossible with the dirt tasting cloth in your mouth. Without missing a beat then you feel your wrists being pushed together, then locked in that position by some type of rope. Before you get the chance to process what is happening there’s a scratchy fabric shoved in between your lips that pulls your cheeks back. You try to snarl but find it almost impossible with the dirt tasting cloth in your mouth. Then a pair of hands are pushing your back, making your lurch to the questionable man who had walked up behind you only to have his hairy warps catch you with your forehead smushed in between his bicep and forearm. 

“Throw him in the cage. If he gets away from you…well, lets just say that your wife will learn about Susan.” You can hear Caliborn say, a smirk evident in just his voice. 

“Y-Yes sir.” Guerrilla arms answered hastily.

“Also throw these sickles into it cage once he’s in there.”

You hear the heavy thunking of Caliborn walking away, getting farther and farther down the hallway. The first thing you do is twist and turn your body, trying to frantically escape the grip of the man who is holding you up. He only chuckles in response, picking you up off the ground entirely and swinging your body over his shoulder, causing your face to thunk hard against his shoulder blade. Only if it wasn’t for your nose you would have taken the opportunity to chomp the shit out of his back. Even when you try to kick him and smack his head he just responds with a belittling laugh, adding onto that with a smack to your ass that stung even through your sweat pants. 

You try to take note of where the man who is holding you is going, trying to map out the structure of the building in your head to tuck it away for later use. It’s a difficult task though, especially when you are bumped away from the man’s bank only to slam right back into his shoulder blade with every other step. You’re going to get brain damage before you have the chance to walk again.

From what you manage to see about this place does not help you in the slightest. Every single hallway you are carried through looks exactly like the last one, dark lighting and paint splattered walls. 

As you continue towards your immediate death you take the chance to think over strategies. It’s a hard thing to do when you have no idea what type of opponent you are going to have. You know you don’t really have any type of chance at winning this. You were picked up because they don’t think you can win this fight. Really there is no point in even trying, it would be easier just to stand there and allow the other troll to kill you without a problem. After all you really don’t have anything that is waiting for you to return. Dave probably hates you know so…

You aren’t allowed to finish that thought because the man enters a room and stops a few feet away from the door. At your position you can’t see much besides the door that you just walked through, but behind you there is the clinking of a lock turning and metal against metal. Listening closely you can hear there are more sounds that seem like they are voices muffled by something.

Metal grates against concrete before you’re tossed off of the man’s shoulder and right onto your ass on the cement floor that makes you grit your teeth against the muter in your mouth. Metallic clinking sounds to your left as something hits the ground, bouncing off a couple times to finally land with a small ringing sound. Quickly turning your head to look behind you you see the metal cage door being pulled closed, then padlocked twice as the man grins devilishly at you and walks off.

Looking around you see that not only was the door a cage door, but the rest of this area keeping you trapped is also. The only difference is that the part of the cage directly in front you is unlike the other three sides. It isn’t the metal latch work of a chain linked fence but instead a solid wall of metal, not allowing you to see what is beyond it. 

You don’t notice the sickles lying beside you until there are people pouring in through the doors, all of them chatting away excitedly as they wait for the show to begin. Some of them come up to you, looking in through the bars to get a look at you, sitting on the floor haphazardly with your mouth tied shut and hands bound. It feels like being at the pound all over again, but at least there you had free will to move around in your area. They all seem to leer at you, to think the same exact thing with a twisted grin on their faces. 

You hate them. Every single last one of them. 

Trying to ignore them you look over at the sickles that have been tossed carelessly beside you. After position your hands three different ways you figure out how to get one of the sickles handles in your hands, turning the blade to work at the ropes. You begin to move the sickle up and down along the rope with the flicks of your wrists in order to try and get the binds off.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice roars from somewhere unseeable to you. “Welcome to the last round of the annual Quadrant Death Match! Every troll in here has some type of relation to at least one other troll within this battle!”

The voice continues on, but you have no idea what he’s saying. This is a fight, where every troll has at least one romantic relation to another troll within the match. That’s the only thing running through your head as your hatred for human kind bubbles up within you. What kind of sick fuck would device a game like this? All for the entertainment of humans?

If that’s true then…who is your partner?

You’re brought out of your thoughts as a roar of cheers from the crowd behind you erupts loudly, many of them shouting and laughing and clapping. You can already hear people as they begin to make bets amongst each other. All over again you feel that rage that is turning your vision red, but this time you think you might puke from how disgusting these pink creatures are.

A mechanical buzzing fills the room from above you, turning your eyes to in front where the all metal wall had been which you notice with a sickening lurch in your stomach is now beginning to lift upwards. 

The fight has begun.

Across from you you can make out another troll who is charging out of her own cubicle where she had been placed before the fight started. It takes you a moment to realize that she is running straight towards you with claw shaped weapon on her hand. 

Hurriedly you look back at your hands, moving the sickle desperately against the fabric that’s binding you. With you becoming more desperate by the second you start to lose your grip on the handle, the rope now resting against the very end of the sickle blade and continuously getting stuck on the handle’s beginning. 

Your wrist doesn’t stop moving as you glance up from your wrists back to the advancing troll who is halfway across the floor length that’s covered in partially drying blood. The smell of sweat, pain, and death is beginning to make you feel sick. You can hear two other trolls fighting somewhere off to the side, although they are obscured from your view due to the small cage that is still around you.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck, you need to get this god damn bind right now. Without allowing yourself a second to think you momentarily release the sickles handle from the cup you formed with both of your hands, letting the weapon slide down until you could wrap the fingers from one of your hands around the widest part of the thin blade, frantically flicking that wrist in order to cut the cloth. It’s a lot easier to cut this way; it gives you a greater chance of controlling the movement of the blade, which is slowly making rips in the fabric, consequentially loosening it up. 

The crowd’s anticipation for your blood pooling onto the floor is now buzzing around you in a loose coil, making you even more frantic to escape it. Flicking your eyes up towards the troll who is still charging at you. She is so close, you have thirty seconds tops until she glides those claw weapons straight into your brain.

You cut faster, the grip you have on the blades handle causing deep cuts that blood is beginning to well up and out of, coloring the blade with your mutant color that at any other time would have you flinching, but right now you are too busy trying to become free. The cuts sting which you ignore to the best of your ability.

Throwing a quick glance her way you estimate she is now twenty seconds away.

The fabric under your blade makes a ripping sound.

Fifteen seconds now.

Your blood is now starting to soak into the edges of the fabric, slowly spreading throughout the entire thing slowly by its threads.

Ten seconds.

It hurts. It hurts badly and not for the first time you are thinking about letting yourself finally rest. Just let her kill you quick and simple.

Nine seconds. 

Your wrist is tired of moving.

Eight seconds.

There’s another ripping sound from your bind.

Seven seconds.

Why should you try?

Six seconds.

Why not give the crowd what they want? Why not be what everyone expect you to be?

Five seconds.

What’s the point of trying right now?

Four seconds.

What about Dave? 

Three seconds.

The blades slowing.

Two seconds.

You’re almost through the binding, but there is not enough time anymore.

One second.

“Karkat! Move!” you hear Dave’s voice from somewhere in the crowd.

The other trolls blades slash downwards, thunking against the cement floor where you had just been. Thanks to the voice you had rolled out of the way, ending up a few feet away from where the girl troll is now snarling down at the ground where you were supposed to be. She looks at you, her olive green eyes burning bright. Quickly you pull your wrists apart as quick as you possibly can, hearing the achingly slow rips of each individual thread tearing from the bind. 

She’s lifting her cat-like claws from where they are, swinging her body swiftly towards you, her claws slashing through air straight towards your chest. 

There’s a clang of metal against metal as  you hold up one of the sickles just in time to stop her claws from hitting you, the blood soaked binding falling down to the ground. She’s snarling at you, showing you her sharp teeth and her eyes focused intensely on yours. 

You can’t snarl, you can’t growl or tell her to back off because the fabric is still in between your lips, drying them out and making it impossible to speak. 

“Karkat! Fuck, get the fuck out of my way! Karkat!” you can hear a voice achingly similar to Dave’s yelling out for you, but it feels like it’s from a different life, not the one you’re in right now with a snarling oliveblood troll trying to shove her blue claws into your heart.

Your hand scrambles to the side of you, gripping the end of the other sickle which you bring up to hit her head with the back end of it.

She yowls in pain, quickly backing away from you which you take to your advantage to jump to your feet, racing away from her with both sickles gripped tightly in your fists. Running out of your cubicle you run straight into a larger ring blocked in with chain fences. On your left and right there are two other small cubicles that you take notice of while you struggle to untie the cloth around your mouth, finally getting it off after tearing on of your nails painfully.

A dark laugh brings your attention to the left of you, where you see two other trolls in the middle of a fight. All you are able to take in his the mess of black hair the orange and yellow of their horns before you feel three sharp claw points rip through your shirt, cutting cleanly through the skin on your back.

Turning around you see her grinning at you from her crouched position. Already you can see the spot where the round end of your handle had connected with her skull; it’s going to leave on nasty bruise. Fumbling with your sickles you position them how you believe they are supposed to go, spreading your feet apart to brace yourself for whatever attack she might have. You really don’t want to fight this girl, but unless your mind was playing cruel jokes on you that had been Dave’s voice earlier. Dave being here is sending determination to you for you to make it out of this alive. When you had heard his voice he sounded frantic…scared. You don’t like those emotions being conveyed through Strider’s voice, but it meant that he still cared. 

She lunges at you, swinging the blade as she does. Using your sickles you block the attack, trapping her claws in between both of your weapons. Now you are both once again in a stalemate, glaring at the other with huffing chests and awaiting for one of you to make the next move. 

“I don’t want to fucking fight you.” You snarl at her, never taking your gaze off of her hard green ones. 

He eyes widen momentarily and she seemed to be slowly withdrawing her weapon, causing you to warily recede with yours. As you slowly start to take yours away from her a threatening grin takes over on her face. Before you have a chance to react to the expression you feel a foot collide heavily in your stomach, pushing you back flat on your ass as the air huffs out of your lungs.

She pins you down on top of the cement where yellow blood is in the midst of drying, turning into a tacky, wet substance. You try to get back up, but she pushes down on your chest roughly, making your head bang backwards against the floor. Her hands are placed roughly on your shoulders and shoves her knee into your ribcage hard enough to make something crack unpleasantly. 

Her hot breath is in your face. “Then mew are going to die.”

“Fuck you.” You growl back before your teeth sink down into the meat of her shoulder. 

She screams out as her olive blood begins to fill your mouth. You don’t remove your fangs from her flesh until a stinging pain runs its length across your cheek, causing blood to well up and drip down to mix with the green covering your mouth. You kick her off of you while she’s still distracted, turning until she’s knock off onto the floor and you quickly scramble up, spitting the mouthful of blood out onto the ground where it splatters with a sickening sound. 

Searching for your sickles you see that they landed in a tacky blood mixture of brown and teal blood that sticks not only to your blades but your fingertips as well when you snatch them up. Turning around quickly you see she has staggered to her feet, blood dripping out in a steady stream from her wound to collect in the top of her shirt. Her reactions are too slow as you lift your sickle above your head, ready to swing down and end this; at least until you feel a stabbing pain from the side of your abdomen.

The unexpected pain has you stumbling backwards, your sickles lowering. Looking towards where the arrow was shot you see a blue blood with his bow still position straight out from his arm, his hand still in the coiled position where he had pulled the string back.

Looking down there is so much blood. For the first time since this battle had started the inescapable fear of someone discovering your blood color rears its ugly head. Your immediate reaction is to drop both your sickles, letting them clatter onto the ground, and place both hands over the blood that is beginning to seep out. The pain is blinding, and before you know it you’re on the ground with your hands desperately pressed around the arrow. You know it hit something major, making you too scared to just pull the damn thing out of your body. 

The greenblood is advancing on you now, her claws gleaming sickeningly from the dull lights above. You’re quite aware of people shouting, yelling, screaming, cheering, but all of it seems so far away. All you can focus on is the advancing troll in front of you and your heartbeat which is beginning to slow.

She is ready to strike, her claws in the perfect spot to hit your throat, but right as she’s about to swing you hear a deep, rumbling laugh that breaks through everything else. Both of you can’t help to turn your heads to see where it came from, and what you see makes your stomach churn uncomfortably inside you. 

The troll who had shot you with an arrow before is now being strangled by his own bow, his head bowed so all you can see are his two bright horns, one having been broken in half for some reason. The troll behind him which seems so incredibly familiar to you is clutching the end of the bow in his hands, pulling it back tighter while laughing, his face paint making him seem more like a demon than a troll. His wavy horns seem so familiar but right now you can’t place them.

The troll in front of you has completely forgotten about you, screaming in pain and rage before she charges towards the other two, leaving you behind which you’re grateful for because you don’t think you can keep conscious anymore. The old wounds on top of the newly acquired ones are not doing you any favors.

You don’t know how long you’ve been out but when you come too you’re still on the cold floor, bleeding out your mutant color. Tiredly looking over to where the others had been you see that the bow and arrow troll is now lying face down on the ground, the clown troll and cat troll facing off, claws against clubs. You close your eyes again.

Next time you look they are in the middle of the fight, he snatches her wrist with a cracking sound, making you believe he just broke the bones. 

You close your eyes again.

It takes you a few minutes to open them again this time, only to see the clown raising a club above his head, swinging down with inexplicable speed and you thank whatever god there is that you pass out again before you hear it connect.

Blinking your eyes open you see the clown troll, walking towards you in a gait that seems more appropriate for getting off the couch to go to the bathroom than it does after having killed two trolls. He’s blood splattered, swinging his clubs that are dripping in blood up into the air and catching them with a grin. Once again you know you’ve seen this troll from somewhere, you just can’t place it.

You close your eyes, embracing the dark.

Your breathing is shallow next time you open your eyes. All you see are black pants with polka dots. Moving your head slightly you look up, seeing the same clown in front of you, grinning widely so all of his sharp canines are on display. Three cuts across his face are dripping purple blood down his facepaint. 

It’s not until he is lifting one of his clubs above his head that you realize who he is. Those wavy horns, the pants, the face paint. It’s that troll, Gamzee, who had been pale flirting with you at that shitty restaurant. You’re aware that he is in a high blood rage, killing everything and anything in his wake, but maybe, if you just…

Reaching one of your hands out you place it on his leg, papping him as you whisper shush, tasting blood in the back of our throat. He looks down at you, confusion evident on his face that’s causing him to lower his weapon. In his confusion you take the chance to pull the backs of his feet, making him fall. He honks angrily, practically roaring it out.

His face is close enough now that you can reach up, placing a cold hand on his cheek and gently papping him before he has a chance to recover. You continue to pap him, shushing him the entire time. He calms down slightly for a moment, before roaring out angrily which you quickly pap away that anger. You aren’t sure how many minutes have passed by of you just papping him, but it’s been long enough that your arm is straining with the effort. It’s worth it though, because he calms down to the point of having drowsy eyes, a rumbling purr coming from his chest. In return you click at him, although it seems wrong now, more strained with the arrow in your gut.

You’re beginning to close your eyes again, letting the darkness consume you, but then a voice shouts out, breaking the silence. 

“Karkat!”

Gamzee continues to purr beside you while you slowly drop your arm, trying to keep your eyes open but they are proving to be stronger than your will as they start to close.

“Karkat!” Dave shouts again.

You can hear quick footsteps. You squint your eyes open, wanting to see him and now your mind is not just playing tricks on you.

You feel hands lifting you head onto a warm lap that smells so much like Dave it hurts. A hand is brushing your hair back from your face. You’d never thought you’d say it but holy shit was that hand warm compared to your now cold skin.

You manage to open your eyes fully, looking up into the shades of none other than Dave strider himself as he cradles your head in your lap. You don’t have to see his eyes to know he’s scared. 

“Karkat, oh jesus fucking balls I’m so so so-“he begins but you cut him off by placing a hand slowly over his lips.

“M’sorry.” You whisper, so quietly there’s a chance he hadn’t heard you.

The last image you see is his face above you before your entire world turns to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so incredibly much to every single person who has left kudos, subscribed, bookmarked, or even read this! It means a lot to me that you guys are sticking with me through this and hopefully you continue to stay with me to the very end.  
> Have a good day everyone :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at who finally updated!!  
> Sadly, it's short but its main purpose is to set up the next chapter.   
> I am very, very, very sorry for not updating in a while and the random stop there. Life has just been crazy for me lately.  
> I have also had this written up for a while but I wasn't happy with the first draft, so I completely started over and that is also another factor on why it took so excruciatingly long to post this.  
> Alrighty, imma shut up now so that you can get on with reading :)  
> (P.S that promised smut should be happening in around... three more chapters I believe.)

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You have never hated a sound so much in your life. With each passing tick the speedy second hand makes you are only being reminded of how drastic the role of time is.

Tick. Tick.

If you had been even a second later behind from when you had arrived at the Lalonde’s house there is an overwhelming possibility that Karkat would have died within your arms from choking on his own blood which he had painfully been coughing up in the backseat of Calliope’s minivan. 

Thank god Callie had arrived at your door to tell you about what her dear brother Caliborn was up to. Thank fuck she also knows Roxy, who is the closest thing to a doctor you can find without going to the actual hospital. Callie had pointed out vital information regarding Karkat’s blood color, stating that if he were to show up in an operating room at a hospital he would be fixed up only to be taken to a government facility for researching directly afterwards. In other words, you would never see him again. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

You’re impatiently bouncing your leg in a chair, intently watching the clock as time goes by in a way to distract yourself from the terrible feeling clenching around your heart as you wait to hear whether or not Roxy has managed to stabilize him.  

Calliope is sitting in a chair besides you, her green eyes carefully avoiding looking at yours as she focuses on her own hands. In the first ten to fifteen minutes she had tried to reassure you, telling you that she was sure everything was going to be fine and how trolls are deliberately made in order to handle vicious attacks from other trolls. She tells you that he’ll most likely pull through. You hadn’t paid attention as she tried to comfort you, instead trying to allow the methodical ticking of the clocks golden handles to keep your mind occupied, but no matter how much you tried to calm yourself down you simply couldn’t get your leg to stop moving nor get your hands to stop shaking.

Tick. Tick.

After almost an hour went by Calliope stopped trying to console you. 

Tick. Ti-. Tick. Ti-

You distantly remember Rose coming in for a minute, her voice the same direct tone as always. She said something about the clown troll, how she has managed to stabilize him and put him under some sleeping pills on order to help his injuries, as well as keep him from injuring one of you.

Tick tick ti- tick tick ti- ti- ti- ti-

Your eyes widen behind your shades as you watch the second hand become stuck midway between the fourteenth and fifteenth mark. It lurches forward slightly, only to be pushed back by the mechanics inside of it. Your breathe catches in your throat, willing it to continue moving, needing it to not stop. Your heart sinks with this unexplainable feeling that if that hand stops now, there will be no going back, no fixing it. It will simply be turned into just another pile of old junk tossed into the attic. 

Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti.

You become deathly still, watching as ice cold fear slinks down your spine.

Ti-ti-ti.

It continues to lurch back and forth in the same spot over the purple background.

Ti-ti-ti-tick. Tick. Tick. 

An audible gust of wind escapes your nose when it finally continues on its path, moving past the spot that had kept it trapped.

It feels like forever until Roxy returns. Her hair is pulled back into a loose and messy bun that allows strands to hover over her forehead and her pink lipstick has since disappeared from when you had first arrived here with a dying Karkat in your hands. She looks tired, extremely so, with her pink eyes seeming to be swollen underneath. Almost as if she has been crying.

No.

No, it can’t be. He can’t be dead. He just can’t be fucking dead!

You open your mouth, trying to speak, but Roxy’s strained voice beats you to it.

“He isn’t dead, Dave.”

You breathe out a sigh of release, feeling all of the pent up stress inside your body being let out with your exhale. You head falls into your hands, fingers running through your blonde locks and causing them to flop back over your face when you glance back up at the doorway where Roxy is standing, leaning against the wooden frame. 

“But… I’m not sure if he is ever going to heal completely physically, let alone mentally. I’m obviously not a proper doctor Dave, and thank god I wasn’t my usual wasted self-tonight because then…” You don’t say anything as she moves closer towards you, sitting beside you and looking at you with concern evident in her expression. 

“Miraculously, I believe he is going to survive. He is a fighter, that’s for damn sure. The injuries he maintained are bad, but it was his old injuries that are hurting him most. The fight caused some of his poorly healed wounds form a younger age to break open again, mostly internal damages. He may very well have a coma considering from what I can tell there has been a few hits to his head, on top of there being horn damage which if not properly treated can cause an infection that can go to his brain. Thankfully, we caught that before it could get to that stage.”

“So he’ll live?” Dave asked, just needing to reaffirm Karkat would continue to breath.

“Yes but… I am more worried about his mental wellness than I am over his physical health.”

“Well isn’t that to be expected? With the kind of fight he was just in?” Calliope asks.

Roxy spares her a glance before turning her gaze back to you. “It will be easier to show you than to explain.”

She stands up in a way that makes you aware her body must be sore from trying to save Karkat, leaning over him on a table as she tried to repair the damages. You stand up quietly, only the chair’s groaning as your weight is lifted making any noise in the room. You follow behind Roxy silently through the winding hallways and high arched ceilings. Your feet clicking loudly through the wooden floored rooms only to be softened when you run into a carpeted area. Every now and then you spot a wizard painting hanging on a wall. If it was any other day, under any different situation, you would have laughed at them and Rose’s odd fascination with wizards, but today just wasn’t the right time, not after what had happened.

Finally you arrive to a doorway where Roxy stops, her hand hovering over the silver door handle. Before she pushes it open she looks back to you.

“I would tell you to be ready, but I don’t really think that will be possible to prepare for his marks.” 

With that she turns the handle in a fluid motion, pushing the door open and allowing you entry. A soft lamplight floods out from the doorway, lighting up a rectangular shape on the wooden floorboards of the hallway. She doesn’t enter the room, instead simply staying back and allowing you inside of the room.

Holding your breath you walk the few short steps into the room, not breathing until you spot a tuft of jet black hair going in every which direction appearing just above the hem of a white blanket. As soon as you see him every fear leeks out of your body in a rush while you quickly go to the bed’s side. You weren’t aware of how much you had been holding onto until you saw him, every single emotion you haven’t been allowing yourself to feel like a floodgate being opened. 

You take no notice of Kanaya, who has her head bent over the nightstand table besides the bed, rustling around with some gauze objects and bottles of ointment. Instead you slowly raise your hand to rest it on his cheek, which is way too cold for your comfort. He feels as cold as death to you, a stark contrast to his usually boiling blood and radiant heat. 

He is sleeping peacefully, his head turned to the side which only elongates his eyelashes against the white pillow. His breathing is labored, but it’s there, making his blanket covered chest rise and fall with each intake and exhale. His hair is an absolute mess, his skin a paler grey than normal along with deeper black bags under his eyes. 

The corners of your lips begin to tug up into a smile, grateful that he is still alive.

“Do you have more blankets?” you ask, wanting to make sure Karkat doesn’t catch hypothermia.

“Yes. Rose went to go retrieve some.” Kanaya answers, horns standing tall upon her head as she straightens up. “The damages were causing him to heat up to an unnatural temperature, so we injected him with some antibiotics that also cooled him down as to not overheat.”

Other than his pale color and cold skin he looks otherwise healthy, as if he is just taking a long nap on the middle of your couch. That is until Roxy grabs a corner of the blanket and pulls it down over his torso.

“Like I said, he’s a fighter.” Roxy says softly, empathy in her voice.

Your eyes widen behind your shades in shock. What you see makes your stomach lurch painfully inside of you until you can feel it boiling its way up the back of your throat. 

Karkat is fucking skinny. Skinnier than you had originally believed. It scares you to think of how impossibly malnourished he must have been before he came to your house. His ribs can easily be seen through his stretched skin. It shocks you that after living at your house for a few months he can still look this malnourished, which can only mean the affects from not eating properly most of his life has permanently affected him. Littering over his exposed body from waist up are a collection of multiple scars. Some of them seem to have been serious injuries that left thick jagged lines behind, others being smaller but still seeming painful. 

You find you hand trailing a light finger down his side, feeling the raised bump of where his grub legs used to be, which have been tarnished by multiple thin lines which makes Kanaya flinch across from you. 

You don’t think it can get any worse, at least until Roxy gently pushes Karkat’s limp body to his other side, allowing the worst mark of all to be shown clearly to you. It’s a burn mark etched deeply into his skin, new enough that the flesh around it is still a soft red, the actual burn looking almost as black as his hair. Unexplainable anger boils through your blood as you look at it, seeing the words burned onto his skin. 

Your hands ball up into fists at your sides, your knuckles turning white from how hard you’re clenching. All you can hear are your own angry thoughts screaming at you in your mind, creating a thousand different ways you will make the creator of Karkat’s mark suffer for the rest of eternity. 

You don’t realize you’ve been steered out of the room and into the hallway until you’re standing in front of a new door, a cool hand on your arm.

“Why don’t you get some rest? We all need it. If anything happens with Karkat I will inform you promptly.” Kanaya says soothingly.

The rumors about jadebloods being very comforting trolls must be true because before you grasp what your doing you follow her orders, believing it is the best idea for now. Walking into the room you shut the door behind you softly, only to collapse onto the bed to allow your thoughts to take free reign. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and hits on this guys!!  
> It's freaking crazy to have reached that much like, just wow.  
> Have a good day/night my friends. :3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey:)   
> I'm super sorry I am sucking at updating this. D: Hopefully I will start to get better at it. I know this is not one of the best chapters and hopefully that will get better as well but ive been fighting writer's block lately and let me tell you, it can be quite the bitch.  
> As well as having writer's block this was a holiday week which meant A LOT of family. Honestly going to one of my family parties is just like going to school and having to have a twenty minute long conversation with every single person in school. In other words, I am beyond tired.  
> Anyways, i'll shut up now and let you get to reading :3  
> (P.S. I hope all of you had a happy thanksgiving)

Your senior year of school has just begun. You should be out of your goddamn pants with excitement that this is the last time you will ever have to walk these ugly ass walls, that it will be the last time you ever have to deal with the students within the school, or the teachers who have worked here so long that they are starting to blend into their classrooms walls. You should be walking these halls with your head held high in superiority to all the younger classmen because fuck them all, you’re done here at the end of May. But instead, you are walking to your classrooms and reuniting with old classmates with a somber hair surrounding you because Karkat is still at the Lalonde’s.

You’re aware that he has woken up since about two weeks ago. That was before the school bell rang to call all its students back to another year so you had been chatting with Rose when Karkat woke up for the first time since he arrived there.

You had been sitting alongside Rose in her living room when you heard frantic shouting coming from down the hall. Rushing to your feet you had ran down the long hallway to Karkat’s room, all the while the yells growing louder. When you entered the room you saw Kanaya trying her best to soothe the terrified Karkat. Her grey hands were placed gently on his shoulders as she tried to lead him to lay back down in his bed; but Karkat’s wide, frantic eyes made it obvious that no matter what she did or said he wouldn’t be calmed. He didn’t know where he was, confused eyes searching over the area only to come back as unfamiliar. 

He continued to yell until you set your hands firmly on his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. For one exceptionally terrifying moment you thought he might not recognize you, until the frantic animalistic look in his eyes left to be replaced by recognition.

“Shh Karkat, hush. I’m here okay? You’re okay. You’re safe. Don’t worry, I have you. I have you.” You whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

That’s when Roxy comes in to give him a shot of pain killers that causeed Karkat to fall asleep once again.

It’s not until his eyes closed completely and his body went limp with sleep that you set him down back onto his pillow gently, trying to cover up that painful ache inside your chest as you look down at his sleeping form. 

In his frantic struggle to get up he had torn out all of his iv’s from his arms, which Roxy replaces with a swift motion before attaching it back to a water bag so he didn’t get dehydrated. 

You disappeared into you room after that in order to collect yourself.

When he woke up a couple days later he understood where he was, so he didn’t go batshit crazy which was good, but he had asked specifically if Kanaya would keep you out of the room, which was really, really bad.

Kanaya said that he just wasn’t ready to face you yet, and that when he was he would say so, but that doesn’t make it any better for you. You respectively kept your distance from him, but jealousy still flared up when he would accept the creepy clown fuck into his room rather than you. Ever since you had brought Gamzee here after finding him at the fights he had been staying here since he had nowhere else to go.

The class bell rings, signaling the end of the day.

                                                **************************************************

Opening your eyes has gotten easier, since the room doesn’t spin due to the throbbing pain in your head. You’re still sore all over your body, being reminded of your injuries whenever you try to move which is usually just when your ass goes numb from laying on this bed for so long. You know that you are healthy enough to go back with Dave, in fact your wounds have stopped being a case for worry about a week ago but you remain inside this small, cubicle room with plant atop a windowsill and the all too pristine bed. You want to go home, you really truly do, but there is a fear inside of you that still has your spine its death grip.

Dave knows. He knows about your blood, a fact you have covered up by lying to him and saying it was rust which is a death sentence in itself. Not only that, but you know he has seen the mark burned into your skin. You know he must have seen it since everyone else in this house has. You are absolutely terrified of having to talk to him. He is surely going to tell you he just can’t have a troll who is as completely assfucked as you. So, you’re grand solution to the problem is to avoid Strider by pretending to be asleep whenever he’s here.

A sigh of gratefulness passes your dry lips when you see that your room is empty of a questioning Rose, a drunk Roxy, and a worrying Kanaya. Without them hustling about your room you can actually take a moment to think for yourself, running a bandaged hand across your forehead. 

Looking at the window you see it’s bright outside, the light that is pouring in through the blinds making your eyes squint shut from the brightness. While the plant may be forever grateful to the sun you are still genetically a night creature, especially after sleeping for multiple hours. 

Slowly, you swing your legs to the side of the bed until your bare feet meet the cold wood floor. When you push the rest of your body off the bed by your forearms your head becomes dizzy, causing the room around you to spin for a moment before you steady yourself on the stack of books Kanaya and Rose have supplied you with. This is the first time you have stood up by yourself since arriving here, you’re legs feeling odd at having to move.

First things first, you are going to the kitchen to grab something to drink because you are fucking thirsty.

It’s an achingly slow process, you walking down the walls and into unfamiliar rooms in the search for something resembling a kitchen. Once you discover the fridge you snatch out two bottles of water, cracking one open and pouring the cold and refreshing substance down your throat. Once your mouth doesn’t feel the fucking Sahara Desert you start to walk back down the hall towards your room, but rather than going to the very last door at the end of the hall, you stop midway at a door you haven’t walking into yet.

Bringing a hand up to the door, you knock on the hard wood before taking a retreating step backwards to wait for the inhabitants of the room to open the door.

When you are just about to give up and head back to your room there is the quiet sound of metal clinking against metal. The door is opened slowly, revealing the tall and lanky troll behind. 

You’ve talked to Gamzee a few times since coming to the Lalonde’s house. He would come into your room randomly to just shit besides you and talk, not seeming to give a shit that you almost always had no energy to respond to him. 

“Hey Gamzee. You want to hang out?” you ask hesitantly, realizing you truly don’t know a great deal about this troll.

In answer the indigo blood opens the door wider, giving you a smile. “Hell motherfucking yeah.”

Walking into the room it takes some time to adjust your eyes to the darkness. As he closes the door behind you you take the moment to assess his current living space. There’s a TV in one corner that’s playing hat you can only imagine are shows from cartoon network. His bed is messy, his sheets half hanging off of the mattress and his pillows scattered across the surface. He has taken one of his sheets off of his bed in order to make a haphazard curtain with it. 

 You hand him one of the water bottles, almost dropping it due to the amount of gauze wrapped around your hand. He takes it from you, but instead of opening it up he sets it down on top of the television before plopping down onto his bed and motioning you to the spot besides him. Carefully you sit down beside him, still wary of him so you keep some space between the two of you.

“What’s all up an on your mind motherfucker?” he asks in his rumbling voice.

“Just tired as fuck sitting around in the same grubfucking room watching my own shameglobes writher away.” You respond, watching the TV but not paying attention.

“Fuck that noise brother.” Gamzee sounds just a notch away from yelling, making you look over at questioningly. Once again you remember how little you actually know this troll and how easy it would be for him to kill you right now.

Gamzee himself seems a bit startled from his outburst as well, his head giving a small shake that makes his hair flop onto his forehead. “Sorry Karbro, didn’t all up and mean ta make a motherfucker jump.What I all up and mean ta say is that’s not whats on your mind. We may not have known each otherfor long but that doesn’t all up and mean ya aint my palest of bros. As pale as one of them motherfucking human’s skin. Ya have somethin’ else on your mind. We can all up and have ourselves one of them miraculous feelings jam.” Gamzee’s face breaks out into a wide grin, all of his pointed fangs showing brightly against his black lips. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, instead just taking him in. He’s tall, his back hunching over a bit in order to actually be able to see the tv as well as you. His hair is dirtier as well as crazier from the last time you had seen him as well. Without his clown make-up on you can see the slight laugh-lines around his black lips, the slightly sunken cheeks as well as the three scratches that cut from the top right of his face to the bottom left. Kanaya did a wonderful job with healing those, seeing how they merely scars now but nonetheless look painful. It’s a miracle that his eyes are fine. The most shocking thing about his appearance though are how haunted his eyes look, as if he has lived through the tortures of war.

Apparently your silence is too-long stretched for him, since he begins to speak again. “I could all up and start first.”

In response you give a small nod.

“I’m dying for a smoke Karbro.” He says after taking a breath. “I miss the motherfucking sweetass smoke all up and filling my senses, taking me out of this motherfucking world. I am going motherfucking INSANE with hearing these damn voices in my thinkpan all the time. The only time they shut the fuck up is when I got that sweet little joint attached to my lips.”

“Are you talking about cigarettes?” you ask cautiously.

Gamzee laughs: it’s a dark, bitter sound. “No motherfucker. I’m getting my talk on about weed. Ya see, Calibro would all up and give me a daily joint to keep my ass calm, started ever since he was about 16. That was when he first all up and started putting me in them troll fights. Keep me blitzed the fuck out until the week of one. Then he would take the miracle away from me, in order to all up and build my anger, until I killed the motherfucking competitors. After the first few times I needed that wicked shit brother. Needed it to keep my pan on straight, to all up and get my forgetfulness on about what these motherfucking hands have done…”

You don’t know how to respond, but sitting there doing nothing while Gamzee was having a breakdown right next to you was twisting your heart painfully inside your chest. He had taken his long, skinny hands and buried his head inside of them. Carefully you place one of your hands on his knee, rubbing his leg as you try to support him. 

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault Gamzee. The bloods on that asshole Caliborn, not you.” You say softly.

He looks up from his hands with a tortured gaze. “I almost killed you. I ALMOST ALL UP AND KILLED MY MOTHERFUCKING PALEST OF BROTHERS!”

“But you didn’t! That wasn’t you!” you grab his hands in both of yours. “I’m here for you, okay?” you ask.

It amazes you how much you can pity this drug addicted maniac in such a short amount of time.

Gamzee nods slowly. He doesn’t speak for a while, instead he just stays sitting beside you and grips your hands back. After a few minutes he stabilizes and speaks so softly its almost a whisper. “I think I’m better now. I think I can all up and get over this. Kanayasis has all up and been giving me this shit through a needle. I don’t know what it motherfucking is, but it works. The cravings have gone down and all.”

For the next hour or so you console him. Just hanging out in his room and watching some shitty shows on tv. He seems to be better after a little bit, laughing every now and then and something on the tv and chatting with you about random things. You stay there until you begin to feel tired, your eyes beginning to droop.

“I should go back to my room before Kanaya flips her shit.” You say as you stand.

Gamzee’s gaze snaps off of the tv screen and up to you. “But we never all up and got to your side of the motherfucking conversation brother.”

You take a moment before responding. “I’m just scared to go back with Dave.”

“Why you all up and got your motherfucking fear on about that? He all up and cares for you motherfucker. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have gotten your ass out of that motherfucking ring, especially when I was all up and motherfucking raging in there. You don’t got nothing to worry about.”

Once again you’re hit with how much you care for this troll. “Thanks Gamzee, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Alright motherfucker, alright.” You hear him say as you close the door behind you. 

With a sigh you begin to walk back down the hallway to get back to your bed and pass the fuck out before you tell Kanaya you’re ready to talk to Dave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per usual, thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story and supported it for this long. It is freaking amazing to see how many people have thought this story is worth a kudos. :D

**Author's Note:**

> I probably made some mistakes and I'm sorry.  
> Comments and criticism appreciated. :)


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